


don’t say you love me (babe we’ve both had too much to drink)

by elleTchj



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Friends to Friends With Benefits to Lovers, First Time, Knotting, M/M, Mentioned Kanera, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25811275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elleTchj/pseuds/elleTchj
Summary: Maybe it’s a mistake (it most definitely is), but Zeb can’t resist what Kallus offers. Even if it’s not exactly what he wants.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 71
Kudos: 332





	1. It’s just this one time.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [level me with a dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25140979) by [vintaged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintaged/pseuds/vintaged). 



> This is a part of the amazing FWB-verse @vintaged created, I’m just filling out some blanks and and adding the smut.
> 
> Both characters engage in sexual acts while drunk in this fic, they check for consent beforehand but they do not wait until they are sober. Please be aware if that’s is something you are uncomfortable with.

They’re _alive_.

The Death Star has been blown to bits over Yavin IV and the Rebellion is alive.

Wherever Zeb looks on the base, people are celebrating, drinking and hugging and kissing, and his heart beats a little faster when he sees a togorian and a human embracing. He doesn’t want to think about _that._

Tonight, all he wants is to ingest enough alcohol to earn a well-deserved headache in the morning. _I’m drinking for Hera too_ , he thinks, because his general is so pregnant she’s about to burst, and retreated to her cabin as soon as the sun set.

Zeb follows the sounds of joyous laughter and loud bravado to a makeshift bar, not far from the hangar, therefore overrun with drunk-off-their-minds pilots. He snags himself a drink with a dubious color and an even more suspicious smell, which is exactly what he’s looking for. It takes Lasats a lot of alcohol to end up as wasted as he aims to get.

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you.” The deep Coruscanti accents leave no doubts as to the identity of the man commenting on Zeb’s choice of beverage. 

“Speaking from experience, Kal?”

“Unfortunately.” And Kallus laughs, one of these genuine fits of laughter where his nose scrunches and his eyes wrinkle in the corners, that make Zeb want to sweep him off his feet.

It’s not a line of thought Zeb wants to go along with and he downs the foul-smelling liquid in one gulp. It burns his throat, makes his eyes water, makes his mind foggy so he doesn’t think any longer about kissing the man who used to be his mortal enemy.

Kallus’s grimace of disgust is almost funny. “I did warn you,” He reminds the Lasat.

“It’d be a waste of alcohol!” Zeb bellows, slapping Kallus’s back with his large paw. “‘m not against finding us some better drinks though.”

“Follow me.” Kallus leads him deeper inside the hangar, even closer to the cheering and singing. (He doesn’t grab his hand, but Zeb wonders what that would feel like, these deft human fingers tangled with his own.)

They find a spot on a weapons crate in the reserve, surrounded by drunk and happy rebels. Zeb catches Wedge attempting a keg stand, everyone circling him chanting “Drink! Drink!”. The Lasat makes a mental note to check on the kid the next morning. No one can ingest that much booze and come out intact, not even a determined pilot.

The crate creaks a little as Kallus sits down next to Zeb, two glasses of Corellian ale in his hands. He hands the Lasat one and holds up his own.

“To blowing up the Death Star.”

“To blowing up the kriffing Death Star.” Zeb echoes as he clinks his glass with Kallus’s. 

He takes a big sip of his drink, and Kallus was right, it’s much better than whatever he was having before. When he lowers his glass, he meets Kallus’s golden gaze, so intense yet gentle -not a word he thought he would ever use to describe Kallus all of people- and his stomach twists into knots.

He downs the rest of his drink as fast as he can manage. No thinking of Kallus’s -frankly gorgeous- eyes if he can help it.

People come and go around the two of them, chatting about the battle and the Alliance’s victory, gloating about their own prowess -Zeb doubts a single pilot could take down fifty Tie Fighters in an epic duel, but he’s not about to point that out and ruin the fun. He gulps down a couple more glasses of ale, matching Kallus’s pace as they banter about how Intelligence should really get all the credit, damn these pilots and their bravado.

Zeb is starting to feel pleasantly buzzed and the surrounding noises blend together into a background cacophony. Before long, he’s relaxed so much that he slowly slides off the edge of the crate and only manages to crawl back up with Kallus’s hand grabbing the fabric of his jumpsuit. 

That same ex-Imperial stares at him, his very pretty lips parting and tugging at the corners, and kriff, do these muttonchops make for a nice frame.

Blinking through his drunken daze, Zeb realizes that the other man is actually _talking_ to him. Kallus chuckles as he notices the embarrassment on Zeb’s face and moves in closer, speaking as loud as he can in the Lasat’s ear to drown out the party raging around them.

Zeb is a bit too tipsy to notice how intimate the gesture is, but the warmth of Kallus breath makes his furry ear twitch and the ex-imperial chuckles at the sight before asking: “Are you alright? We can get some air if you want.”

“Yeah. We can do that,” Zeb grumbles as Kallus helps him up. 

They make their way out of the reserve, moving back up the hangar. Zeb will blame the drink later, to explain why he has his arm slung around Kallus’s shoulder in a warm embrace. Kallus doesn’t push him away either, but he doesn’t want to dwell on it.

A cool breeze ruffles Zeb’s fur and he sighs in appreciation. His mind _does_ feel clearer in the relative silence of the X-Wing hangar. Clear enough that he can tell how drunk he actually is, his head slightly spinning and his feet uncoordinated.

“L-let’s sit back there,” Zeb suggests, pointing at some scaffolding between two ships. There’s barely enough space for the two of them. Kallus’s shoulder is flush to his, and the radiating heat from his body makes Zeb think of Barhyn and its’ cold storm.

He didn’t fall in love with Kallus then. He merely stopped hating him. No, the yearning came long after, when the hair grew long and Kallus became Kal, became _Alexsandr_. When he told Zeb about his family, about growing up in the lower levels of Coruscant, about his numerous mistakes.

(One night, he tells Zeb about his first boyfriend, about hurried kisses between classes and the messy breakup that followed. “I wouldn’t date again,” Kallus says, and Zeb’s heart silently shatters.)

“So, nice party?” Kallus asks, bumping his side against Zeb. His speech is slurry and it is obvious he is just as drunk as the Lasat.

“Hm-mm. Bit loud though.”

“Well, we’re old men, we can’t be expected to mingle with the youths too much.”

“Yer not old!” Zeb shoves him a little, just to make his point. Kallus is in his mid-thirties, but he acts like his life is already nearing dusk. It annoys Zeb to no end.

“Fine. But then you’re not old either.” Kallus smiles as he answers and gives Zeb a cheeky look that makes the Lasat shiver from head to toe.

 _So drunk Kallus is flirty,_ Zeb makes a mental note. _It’s nothing I can’t handle._

The silence between them makes itself at home. The music is nothing more than a quiet echo, the sound of the local wildlife louder than the instruments. If he pays attention, Zeb can even hear the breeze rustling the leaves of the surrounding forest. 

He hears another sound, closer. And when he turns around, he realizes that it’s the slow and steady inhale and exhale out of Kallus’s lungs.

Kallus’s eyes are closed, his lips curled into a faint smile as he breathes slowly and takes in the fresh night air. Zeb allows himself to stare, for once.

His eyes run over Kallus’s freckles, small little dots that cover his nose and cheeks. They’re harder to see in the dark, but Zeb has been fascinated with them long enough to know they’re there. Although it’s just now that he notices how long the other man’s eyelashes are, and how they’re the shade of honey as his hair. 

_Damn the Ashla for making this man so pretty, and making sure I can’t have him._

It’s unfair, and it makes him growl ever so softly, just enough to make Kallus open his eyes and meet his gaze.

The wind stops and Zeb loses himself in amber.

He tries to say something, anything.

_I’ve wanted you for so long._

_I think you might be the love of my life._

Instead, he just gasps a name.

“Kal.”

The other man doesn’t answer. His pupils just grow wider, taking over and making his eyes dark and _hungry._ He wets his lips and Zeb simply cannot fight the gravitational force pulling him down as he claims Kallus’s mouth.

Kallus gasps into the kiss and fists his hands in Zeb’s jumpsuit, pulling him closer. Despite their drunkenness, their lips manage to fit together in a way that sets the pit of Zeb’s stomach on fire. It’s wet and soft and so very good. It’s Kallus kissing him back with more heat than he could ever have hoped.

Zeb tries to be mindful of his fangs, of his claws. He doesn’t want to spook Kallus, not when he’s finally, after yearning for so long, getting to taste and touch the man. He slowly runs his hand through Kallus’s hair, memorizing its softness and the way Kallus moans against his lips when he gives it a slight tug.

In a graceful move that Zeb wouldn’t expect from a drunk man, Kallus turns and climbs on the Lasat’s lap. He sits taller than Zeb that way, and the different angle lets him run both his hands through fuzzy sideburns and around the back of Zeb’s head, pulling him once again in a filthy open-mouthed kiss.

It’s intoxicating, the way Kallus rolls his hips, grinding on Zeb’s lap like he’s desperate to be even closer. Zeb doesn’t try to resist anymore, to be patient and proper. He grabs himself two handfuls of very nice ex-Imperial ass, and _squeezes._ He grins when he feels Kallus gasp into his mouth. 

Their kisses only grow in passion and before long, Zeb is nipping at Kallus’s neck, leaving bright red marks wherever he can. 

“W-wait,” Kallus breathlessly says, nudging Zeb away so he can face him.

“You okay?”

“Yes, I just…” Kallus stops for a second before gently places his hand on the Lasat’s shoulder. “Promise me we’ll still be friends after this.”

Zeb hopes Kallus can’t read in his eyes the way his heart breaks, hopes the dim light of the hangar hides it.

 _Friends._ Zeb swallows. _Because he doesn’t love you back, you big kriffing idiot._

“Yeah.’Course.” Zeb lies.

He can’t risk losing his one chance to love Kallus, even if he breaks his own heart in the process. 

Taking him at his word, Kallus returns to kissing him, biting at his plush lower lip. He runs his hands everywhere, along Zeb’s arms, his chest, his back. Zeb can’t repress a full-body shiver at how marvelous these deft fingers feel. He buries his head in the crook of Kallus’s neck, inhaling the strong scent there, even muted under the stench of alcohol and smoke.

_If it’s the only time I get to have him, better make it good._

Zeb tightens his grip on Kallus’s ass and lifts him up in a show of strength. He almost tumbles forward standing up -an unfriendly reminder of their addled state - but he holds on. Partly.

With a loud bang, he slams Kallus into the adjacent X-Wing’s hull, knocking the breath out of him. The other man moans, and Zeb is afraid he’s hurt him for a moment, but it very clearly becomes a moan of lust as Kallus wraps his legs around the Lasat’s waist.

The way they fit together and their limbs tangle is so natural, so instinctive, Zeb struggles to remind himself that they aren’t lovers. That they won’t ever be. In that moment, he can only focus on rocking against Kallus and getting more lewd moans out of that mouth.

Something begins poking at Zeb’s thigh and he realizes Kallus is hard beneath him, his eager erection tenting his pants. Zeb’s not doing better himself, his sheath parted and dripping inside his jumpsuit.

“Wanna take this somewhere -ah- more private?” Zeb asks between thrusts.

“Fuck. Yes.” 

“Language, captain.” Zeb teases.

“Bring me to your bunk and I’ll show you language, _captain_.” Kallus throws his head back as he speaks, exposing his marked neck and his reddened lips.

And Zeb decides to risk it all.

They slowly stumble towards the Ghost, avoiding people, hiding in dark corners where they forget the way they were headed and start kissing again. 

They bump into every single wall of the ship, giggling as they spin around. But when they reach Zeb’s cabin, it all suddenly becomes quiet.

Zeb knows, despite what he promised, that it will change everything if they go through with whatever this is. He won’t be able to forget no matter how hard he tries and, for a moment, he considers shutting Kallus down, pretending he’s too drunk, too tired, too weak for the quick fuck the other man wants.

But Kallus leans against the door, and smiles wide, bright and hungry. He slides his hands down his own body, torturously slow, and pops off the first button of his fly. The door whooshes open behind him and as he steps into the dark, he beckons Zeb with a flick of his hand.

That’s more than Zeb can ever say no to. He’s wanted for too long. He takes the bait.

The room is pitch black, and Zeb fumbles for the light switch before reconsidering. Maybe if he doesn’t look the man he so desires in the eye, it won’t matter. At the very least, Kallus won’t be able to read how much Zeb loves him on his face.

When he turns back around, Kallus is sitting on the edge on the bed, his trousers and shirt already off. Zeb slowly closes the distance between them, stepping between the other man’s legs. He runs a paw through Kallus’s hair and relishes in the pleased hum it elicits. Kallus leans into the touch and nuzzles his palm, and it makes Zeb doubt.

“Kal.”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re too drunk, we can stop.” Zeb’s voice shakes a little as the fear that he’s taking advantage washes over him. 

“I’m as sober as I’ll be tonight. I swear.” 

“Sure?”

“I am. Are you?” And this man, this infuriating man kisses the palm of Zeb’s hand and makes the Lasat blush. (In the way his people do, his fur ruffling from his chest all the way to his ears.)

“Yeah.” Zeb takes a deep breath and steels himself. He _is_ drunk, but just enough to allow himself to be selfish. “Yeah. Fuck, let’s do this.”

“That’s the idea.” Kallus teases for an instant before reaching for the zipper of Zeb’s jumpsuit and yanking it down.

The following gasp does wonders for Zeb’s ego. He knows that by Lasat standards, he’s not bad looking at all, but having a human reverently admire his physique is quite gratifying. 

Kallus spreads both his hands flat on the firm planes of Zeb’s stomach and follows the stripes pointing down until he meets the edge of the jumpsuit. He keeps going. And Zeb cannot stop the high-pitched whine rising from his throat when these smart human fingers brush over his erection.

It’s so thrilling, finally receiving that touch, that Zeb’s already half-out of his sheath and the resulting slick is darkening the yellow fabric. Kallus can even feel it, because he removes his hands and rubs two of his digits together, inspecting how wet his fingertips are.

(Even in the dark, Zeb can see enough, his viridescent green eyes unable to look away.)

With mischief in his smile, Kallus looks up at Zeb and slowly tugs the rest of the Lasat’s clothing down. He doesn’t break eye contact, even when Zeb’s shaft bobs free. The Lasat is grateful for the darkness around them, because his ears are twitching with need. He doesn’t want to seem so _eager_. (He is, and his fur fluffs in anticipation.)

Zeb steps out of the legs of his jumpsuit, suddenly feeling exposed, completely naked under Kallus’s gaze. Vulnerable. He shudders when the other man pulls him closer, close enough that the Lasat can feel a hot breath over his alien shaft. 

When Kallus’s lips ghost over the glistening head of his cock, a curse slips from Zeb’s mouth.

“Karabast, Kal. Yer making me crazy.”

“Sorry.” Kallus pulls back. And for the first time of the evening, he sounds hesitant. _Afraid_ , even. “I’ve only ever been with humans. I’m...curious.”

“Oh.” Zeb had not considered that. At all. _Is this too weird for him? What if the spines scare him off? What if he’s just not into it?_

That line of thought is quickly interrupted by Kallus wrapping a shaky fist around Zeb’s shaft. He drags his hand up in a loose grip until he reaches the pointed head, then down, his thumb teasing the soft nubs that cover the Lasat’s length. In the low light, Kallus seems stumped by the large bump at the base, running his finger over it, trying to understand its role.

“‘Ts my knot.” Zeb grunts his explanation. The thick base is the most sensitive part of his erection, and it’s taking all his willpower not to throw Kallus on the bed and take him without preamble.

“How does it-?”

“Gets bigger when I finish. Spines grow big too.”

Kallus lets an unmistakable moan slip out. He grabs Zeb, two firm hands on his ass, and pulls him forward, making him stumble on top of a very aroused ex-Imperial. He languidly rolls his entire body against Zeb’s, legs spread wide to accommodate his partner’s muscular form.

The crook of Kallus’s neck is like a beacon for Zeb, the man’s musk concentrated there in the most appealing smell. He buries his nose in that wonderful spot and takes a deep breath, burning that scent in his memories. 

They keep thrusting against each other, desperate to be closer as Kallus wraps his arms around Zeb’s back and uses the leverage to grind even harder against him. His moans grow higher in pitch, coming in shorter gasps as he loses himself in the motions.

“Kal.” Zeb growls, his voice so ragged he barely recognizes it.

“Want you. Please.” Kallus pleads, his fists closing around a handful of fur.

“Me too, but I gotta get ready,” Zeb tears himself from Kallus’s embrace and freezes.

He wants to say something, get the lube that he’s stashed in a drawer under the bunk, but the sight of Kallus feels like a punch to his chest.

The ex-imperial looks _wrecked_ , for a lack of a better word. His hair is in complete disarray, his chest flushed red. And as Zeb’s eyes roam lower, he sees Kallus palming himself over his underwear, the tented fabric hiding absolutely no part of his erection. It’s messy and desperate and it’s the hottest thing Zeb has ever seen.

_He wants me. Not the way I want him, but he wants me all the same._

“What do you- what do you mean?” Kallus pants. (He does not stop working his shaft, the slick noises make Zeb’s head spin.)

“You can’t exactly fuck me raw.” Zeb wouldn’t normally be that crude, but it helps, the clinical aspect of it, the detachment. _No space for feelings._

“Oh. Are you sure you want to-?”

“‘m a bit too big for you.” It’s a lie, sort of. With enough preparation, Kallus could certainly take him -take his _knot_ \- but in their addled state, Zeb would rather play it safe. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy being pounded into the mattress anyway.

“That’s...reasonable.” Kallus moans as he takes in the sight of Zeb’s naked body, bent over to reach under the bed.

Zeb doesn’t need too much to be ready, and he doesn’t want to take too long. He wants the release most of all. He retracts his claws and starts spreading himself open. The bacta-based lube feels cold, and he can’t help but growl at the stretch of a second finger.

Meanwhile, he hears the sound of fabric rustling, and a warm hand is back on his shaft. It’s good, very good even. It makes him slow down a little bit as he focuses on the way Kal’s inquisitive fingers explore his length.

And because it’s Kallus, smart and hot and surprising Kallus, Zeb feels human fingers leave his cock and reach around, meeting his own furred hand against his hole.

“Ready?” Kal whispers as he adds one of his own digits to the stretch of Zeb’s ass.

Zeb’s brain cannot quite catch up, but his body does the work for him. He removes his fingers and kneels down on the bunk next to Kallus. A little bit of maneuvering and he is on his knees, face buried in the pillow and backside as tempting as he can make it. His digitigrade legs take up a good bit of space on the bed, but Kallus finds a way to step between them.

The ex-imperial reverently feels Zeb’s strong thighs, petting the soft fur that hides there. It’s almost _tender_. It makes Zeb choke up. He can do the sex, but if Kallus starts being gentle, he’s going to break.

A slick shaft pushes against Zeb’s hole, and two strong hands spread his cheek apart. Now that’s more in line with what Zeb was expecting. Kallus presses in torturously slow, inch by inch, and when his smooth pelvis finally meets fur, Zeb is moaning loud and needy into the mattress.

“Oh fuck that’s good.” Kallus groans above him. He pulls back, just a little, and presses forward again. The short thrusts are madenning, just on the edge of satisfying but ultimately not enough.

“Go harder.” The Lasat begs as his claws rips through the linen. (That’s a problem for tomorrow Zeb. Present Zeb is too busy trying to get off.)

“Tch.” Kallus sounds offended, but he still picks up the pace. He pounds into Zeb as hard as he can, making the metal of the bunk creak under his motions.

Zeb is gone by that point, overtaken by how good and full he feels. For a moment, he forgets that it’s Kallus, that he’s yearning for something unreachable, and there’s only the sensation of burning skin on skin.

They are both close, they know it. With the exhaustion and the alcohol, neither of them expected to last. Kallus reaches between Zeb’s legs and strokes at his shaft, and it’s enough. 

With a muffled growl, Zeb comes, spilling his seed over Kallus’s hand. The human gasps at the feel of the spines hardening under his grip and his thrusts grow more erratic as he chases his own end.

In an instant, Kallus stops. Zeb is still riding his own high, he can’t quite make out the hushed words spilling from the other man’s mouth, resting between his furred shoulder blades.

He can definitely feel a pair of warm lips press a kiss in that same spot.

Zeb is almost thankful Kallus comes deep into him seconds after because it stops his mind from spiraling at the implications. Kallus’s spent is so warm and kriff, it’s nice to be filled like that.

Kallus collapses on his back before sliding off. His chest is heaving, his eyes closed and his lips curled into a half-smile. He looks spent, satisfied. He turns his head to face Zeb, half-lidded golden eyes meeting the Lasat’s gaze in the dark. Zeb turns away, pretending to be asleep.

If he says something now, it won’t be something he’ll be able to take back. It’ll be an embarrassing declaration of undying love that Kallus will have to reject, and Zeb has no intention of that happening.

He’d rather be pathetic and pretend they can have sex as friends than risk losing Kallus forever.

Besides him, Kallus slides off the bed. Zeb can hear soft footsteps as the other gathers his clothes around the room and dresses up.

He’s pretty sure Kallus mumbles “I’m sorry.” as he steps out the cabin.

He realizes too late he’s made a mistake.

The morning hurts, in every way.

He was a fool to expect that somehow Kallus would have returned to his bunk during the night. Of course, his bed is cold and empty. And his head is spinning. And he has dried come stuck to his fur and that’s going to be a pain to clean up.

His walk of shame to the bathroom takes way longer than it has to, because the lights are kriffing bright and there’s a supremely annoying buzzing sound in every room of the Ghost that makes Zeb want to rip out his own ears.

By the time he’s made himself presentable, the sun is high up in the sky and the rebel base is buzzing with activity.

(To Zeb’s delight, most people are just as hungover as him, maybe even worse.)

Zeb makes his way to the security briefing with squinted eyes, and he doesn’t pay attention where he’s going. So he bumps right into Kallus.

Kallus, who had his tongue down his throat and his hand around his cock yesterday. Kallus who Zeb has been in love with for months.

“Oh! Good morning.” 

“Ah, yeah. ‘Morning.” Is what Zeb says. _I know what you sound like when you come,_ is what he means.

“Hungover, I suppose?”

“That obvious?” _I want to kiss you again._

“Don’t tell anyone this, but I know medical in the western temple has extra reserves of painkillers. If you need them.”

“I think I do.” _You just have to ask, and I’ll jump into your arms._

“As does most of the Rebel Alliance, it seems.”

“Thanks, Kal.” _You apologized last night. What did you mean?_

“Anytime.”

Kallus smiles and Zeb falls deeper in love.

  
  
  



	2. It happens again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to @vintaged for his help finishing up this chapter, the word machine was broken after too much smut.

It happens again.

It keeps happening, every time they drink together. They end up in Zeb’s bunk, fuck like animals, and Zeb is left sore (in every way).

He doesn’t know how to stop, and he doesn’t really want to. He can’t bring himself to deny Kallus, to miss a chance to feel his body against his own, despite knowing that he’s delaying the inevitable. That Kallus will find someone else.

If he’s honest with himself, Zeb knows that, technically, he’s also at fault here. He always initiates. He sees Kallus letting his guard down and allows himself to give in to his selfish urges and steal a kiss, which leads to a vigorous pounding and an empty bed to accompany his headache.

_Zeb tried so hard to stay away from Kallus after that first night, to rid his mind of golden hair and amber eyes. It didn’t work. He couldn’t uncross that line._

They’ve been together four -no, five?- times already when Kallus slouches in a chair next to Zeb one evening, drink in hand.

“It’s not even night yet,” Zeb says, not even looking up from the transmitter he’s been tinkering with. The Ghost keeps taking heavy damage and most of his spare time on base is spent fixing up what he can.

“Unfortunately, it’s been that kind of day,” Kallus sighs. “Join me?” He shakes the can under Zeb’s nose until the Lasat gives in and takes it.

It’s Bespin Ale, cheap and tasting of citrus, but definitely on the stronger side. It’s also one of Zeb’s favorites and it brings a smile to his lips. Kallus knows him well by now, and cares enough to bring him the kind of booze he likes.

“So, what’s the occasion?” It’s only half a question. Zeb knows what is coming next. They’re both alone on the Ghost, and there’s alcohol involved. He knows what Kallus is probably expecting. He can play pretend, though.

“Guess,” Kallus says as he pops open the lid of his own and takes a sip. He sounds pissed, and looks just as annoyed, slouching in the wicker chair next to Zeb.

Usually, that would be the Lasat’s spot, but he’s sitting on the bench of the Dejarik table where he’s spread his repairs kit. It’s almost endearing, the way the ex-Imperial pouts in a chair too big for him like a child.

“Draven?”

“Draven.” Kallus huffs. It’s almost always about the Intelligence General these days. The man never trusted Kallus to start with, and their relationship has been getting worse ever since that fateful day on Scarriff. Losing the only two people you ever cared about does that to a man.

“What happened?” The ale’s taste lingers on Zeb’s lips, the familiar buzz settling in.

“He’s been getting more and more reckless since we got that win over the Death Star,” Kallus says, speaking slowly and weighing his words. He takes another sip, wincing as the bitter liquid flows down his throat. “Sending people on impossible missions, risking sleeper agents’ identities being discovered.”

“Karabast.”

“It’s as if he wants this war to end with no regard for the costs.” Another sip. “We keep losing people, Zeb.” Kallus stays silent after that. But Zeb knows him by now, he can recognize the tremor in his breath that shows he’s not finished.

“That’s not what I left the Empire for.” Kallus finally admits, bending forward to bury his face in his free hand. “Draven is trying to send Gold Squadron on a mission to survey an imperial compound. On _Coruscant_. They won’t make it back.” The confession is more of a whine than anything, muffled in Kallus’s palm.

“That kriffin’ bastard.”

“What would you do if you were in my place?” Kallus asks, and now _that’s_ a surprise.

“ _Me_? You want _my_ help on this?” Zeb is used to people thinking of him as the muscle, the brute only useful to bash troopers head together. Not to a (brilliant) strategist asking for his opinion.

“I don’t see why not. You’re a capable warrior, and you’re quite eloquent when given the chance.” Kallus gives Zeb a half-smile as he alludes to their conversation on the ice moon.

Zeb takes a moment before he answers, taking a slow sip of his ale.

“Tell Hera. Tell Javes. They both respect you and they’ll fight him. They won’t let pilots be sent to their death.” Zeb answers before slamming the empty can in his hand on the table.

“I guess you’re right. You know, I’m not very good at this.”

Zeb raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Asking for help,” Kallus admits, looking down. He looks vulnerable in a way that Zeb has rarely seen, and the Lasat feels a thrill course through his body.

_He trusts me. I mean something to him._

“Thank you, Zeb,” Kallus says as he finishes his drink. He looks up, and he has that expression on his face again. The one that he wears when they’re done fucking and he’s blissed out and says things so quietly that Zeb can’t make out the words.

“Hey, what are friends for?” Zeb jokes, because this is too honest for comfort. Any more of these breathlessly earnest words and he will feel compelled to break the veneer of friendship between them. He made a promise to Kallus that he wouldn’t.

“Right.” Kallus chuckles, and just like that, they’re back to normal. (That new normal where they have sex every couple weeks and pretend that nothing has changed.)

Zeb releases his fist around the metal can and the sight makes Kallus snort. The can is thoroughly crushed, four deep indents where Zeb’s fingers were holding it.

“Should I get us transparisteel bottles next time?” Kallus teases, pointing at the destroyed canister.

“Laugh it up, bright eyes. I don’t hear you complaining about me being too strong whenever I save your butt.”

“Well, you’re not wrong. Does this happen often?”

“Crushing ale cans? Sometimes. Fit better in the compactor this way though!” Zeb bellows as he tosses the can in the aforementioned bin.

Kallus holds out his own empty ale towards Zeb with a cheeky smile and the Lasat shoots back a puzzled look.

“For the compactor.”

“Now you’re just using me for my body.” Zeb laughs as he effortlessly crushes the can between his paws. Maybe he’s showing off a little, but it feels good, bantering with Kallus like this. He can barely remember how they used to be mortal enemies a few years before.

“Perhaps.”

Kallus might mean that. Because his foot has slipped under the Dejarik table and is currently brushing against Zeb’s digitigrade leg. Zeb chokes a little, and he suddenly wishes he had way more alcohol in his bloodstream.

It’s different from the other nights. It’s not Zeb instigating, breaking the stalemate and getting closer to crossing yet another line. It’s Kallus reaching between them and making his intentions clear for the first time, and it’s way hotter than it has any rights to be.

“So… D’you intend to use me tonight?” Zeb clears his throat, trying to sound as detached as he can. It’s the worst pickup line he’s ever used and he wants to disappear for a second, but Kallus doesn’t seem to mind as he keeps teasing Zeb’s furred calf with his foot.

“If you’re up for it,” Kallus says softly. He’s not usually leading these encounters, and he looks just as apprehensive as Zeb is.

“Not like I have anywhere else to be.” It’s not exactly a lie on Zeb’s part. He is free for the evening, but he would join Kallus even if he wasn’t. Kallus is his own personal siren and he cannot resist.

So when the ex-Imperial stands up, rocking on heels and leaning on the Dejarik table, Zeb’s mouth is already parted and eager. He’s shared a lot of kisses with Kallus in the past few months and yet his heart still skips a beat every time he feels soft lips meet his own. It’s wet and warm and so intense it makes Zeb’s head spin.

When Kallus slips his tongue inside, tasting the bitter ale and feeling Zeb’s fangs, the Lasat can’t help but growl in return. He surrenders to Kallus, to his delicate touch on his ears and his delicious mouth.

Kallus pulls away with Zeb chasing his lips.

“We should probably take this to your cabin.” Kallus pants, his lips red and shiny.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want Hera to see any of _this_.” Zeb says as he squeezes Kallus’s ass. He likes that part of Kallus’s body a bit too much, the way the cheeks comfortably fit in his paws and the quiet moans it draws from the other man.

“Let’s spare her the horror.” Kallus chuckles and he tears himself away from Zeb’s hands.

On the way to Zeb’s cabin, they are both unusually quiet. If it was like any other of their encounters, they would be laughing and kissing and joking, but this is notably different. Kallus seems shy -no, not shy, Kallus is many things but shy has never been one of them-, it’s as if he’s preparing for something, as if he’s anticipating in silence.

And now Zeb can’t help but wonder what the man has in store for him.

Well, after he manages to stop kissing Kallus like he’s water in a drought. Because, as soon as they find refuge in the darkness of the cabin, Kallus throws himself back into Zeb’s arms and starts passionately kissing him again.

With a strength Zeb sometimes forgets the man possesses, Kallus turns Zeb around and forces the Lasat to sit down on his bunk.

“Pushy,” Zeb mumbles.

He still begins to undress, unclasping the bits of his armor and zipping his jumpsuit down. Kallus is following suit, desperately tearing away his clothes and throwing them across the room. (That always makes Zeb proud, the way Kallus loses a bit of his Imperial manners when he’s around him. Small victories over the Empire, but victories still.)

“That’s on you. Be less...” Kallus gestures at Zeb’s -now naked- form. “This.”

“Hot?”

Kallus rolls his eyes at Zeb’s toothy grin and steps between his spread legs. He kneels down in a very appealing view for Zeb, his muscular back fully visible and oh so tempting.

Zeb goes for Kallus’s soft hair instead, tangling the golden strands between his fingers. Kallus hums in appreciation. (Another thing Zeb has learned about the man during their meetings is that he really likes his hair being played with, and he will happily indulge him.)

Once he’s settled, Kallus pushes Zeb’s legs further apart, making access to Zeb’s core easier. He leans forward and nuzzles at the crease of his thighs, taking in the strong musk there with a deep inhale. Slowly, he teasingly kisses his way to the center, where Zeb’s sheath lays already glistening in slick.

The first time Kallus blew Zeb, he was completely stumped by the thing, even attempting to put his finger inside. After a bit of panic and a particularly embarrassing conversation, Kallus ended up wrapping his mind around the Lasat's peculiar anatomy, and quickly put his newfound knowledge to good use.

In one smooth motion, Kallus mouths up the slit, using the tip of his tongue to coax it open. One hand gripping Zeb’s strong thigh, the other one playing with his balls, Kallus dives in, sloppily kissing and licking at the folds. It feels amazing, having the human’s hot breath and wet mouth over him, especially when he feels Kallus smiling against the slit. The ex-Imperial is _enjoying_ this, despite how strange it must seem to him.

Kallus’s talented tongue quickly has the head of Zeb’s cock poking out, parting open the folds of skin that form his sheath, letting even more slick cover the other man’s face.

Zeb is pretty sure he hears Kallus whisper a little “There you are,” and it almost makes him laugh. Only for a second, because next thing he knows, Kallus is slurping around his rising shaft, making the filthiest noise as slick and saliva blend.

A quick look down rewards him with the sight of Kallus with his eyes closed, lips obscenely stretched as he tries to take in the fat middle of Zeb’s alien shaft. The natural lubrication of Zeb’s sheath is dribbling down his chin yet Kallus is humming around the length, diligently taking what Zeb gives him.

Because Kallus is an overachiever lacking a gag reflex, he keeps going until he meets the swell of Zeb’s knot. He looks up, mischief in his gaze, and takes Zeb’s other hand to bring it to the back of his head.

 _Fuck my mouth,_ these amber eyes say. Zeb obeys.

He starts gentle, little thrusts that make Kallus moan around his cock. But it’s not what Kallus wants. The other man pushes forward, relaxing his throat and encouraging Zeb to take _more_.

Zeb tightens his grip and starts pulling Kallus further down his length. Zeb can only stare in fascination as the entirety of his knot disappears between Kallus’s overly stretched lips and the man’s nose ends up buried in lavender fur. The knot hasn’t swelled yet, but it’s still an impressive sight. He burns the image in his memory before pulling Kallus off his shaft, suddenly worried about the human's ability to breathe.

Kallus is panting in wet bursts, his breathing slowly evening out. Zeb is still holding his head, and he’s not sure Kallus would be able to stand still otherwise, with his eyes glazed over and his chest heaving.

“You okay?”

“Never better,” Kallus answers, and he’s smiling despite his hoarse voice.

Before Zeb can react, Kallus dives back in, kissing all over the Lasat’s knot and loosely jerking his fist around the length. One lewd lick from base to tip is all it takes to make Zeb fall off the edge.

Zeb comes hard, his spines enlarging and his seed pulsing from the head and into Kallus's open mouth. The amount is too much for a human to swallow (Another thing Kallus was surprised by the first time, left drenched in Lasat come and mildly offended.) but Kallus tries his best and shows off what he managed to take, swirling his tongue around the thick white fluid.

“You’re a kriffin’ maniac,'' Zeb huffs before he collapses on the mattress. He’s very grateful he gets multiple climaxes because with a partner -not lover, never lover- as dedicated as Kallus, he already feels spent. Very in character for the man to make sex a show of skill, he absently notices.

“Don’t get jealous now, you’re not so bad yourself,” Kallus teases as he wipes his face with the bedsheets and it reminds Zeb of the time he took all of Kallus in his mouth, even his balls, and made the man come so hard he blacked out.

 _We should do that again_ , Zeb thinks. And it scares him, because it means this thing they have, their drunk encounters, it’s a pattern. It’s a relationship of sorts that Zeb can’t make sense of.

Kallus pinches at Zeb’s ear, bringing him back to the present. Zeb’s green eyes crack open -when did he close them?- and he can see Kallus straddling him, the human’s pink cock standing hard and proud. It’s too tempting to resist wrapping a hand around it, drawing a high pitched moan from Kallus.

Zeb gives Kallus a couple tugs, spreading precome over his burning erection. When he feels ready, he releases him to reach at the lube hidden under the bunk. (He’s had to buy a second tube and he’s pretty sure Hera thinks he has a masturbation problem, but it’s worth it.)

The jar is unceremoniously torn from his paw by Kallus.

“Not tonight.” Kallus pops open the lubricant and spreads it generously over his fingers. He reaches behind him as his back arches.

“Tonight, I’m riding _you_.”

Zeb feels his throat go dry. For all their various encounters, Kallus has never been on the bottom. It’s safer that way, less preparation needed, less _tenderness_. He is speechless as he watches Kallus spread himself open, biting his lip to muffle his moans.

“Did-did you prepare for that?” Zeb whines, entranced by the way Kallus’s fist opens and closes around purple fur every time he moves his other hand.

“Does it matter?” Kallus’s chuckle turns into a whimper mid-way, and Zeb can only guess it because he’s got a second finger in.

“Don’t wanna hurt you.” That’s true, but it also matters because if Kallus has actually thought about this, whatever they have, outside of that dark room, then it changes _everything_.

“You won’t.”

Taking advantage of Zeb’s surprise, Kallus turns around and gives the Lasat a very nice view of his freckled ass. Just as Zeb had guessed, the man has two fingers pumping in and out of his puckered entrance and Zeb cannot resist reaching out and grabbing a plump cheek, pushing it out of the way to see more.

It’s fascinating, the way Kallus stretches himself with such focus. The room is completely silent except for their heavy breaths and the slick sound of lube on flesh. Zeb is unable to look away and he accidentally tightens his grip on Kallus’ ass when the man adds another digit to his hole.

“Ah! Careful.” Kallus yelps when claws breach his skin.

“Kark. Sorry.” Zeb leaves four red splotches when he removes his hand. It looks like a mark and a wave of possessiveness washes over him. He wants to claim Kallus, to make sure that no else gets to see him like this, stretched and exposed. He knows he can’t.

The frustration manifests in a feral growl in his throat so loud it makes his entire chest rumble.

“Give me a minute, big guy.” Kallus keens, mistaking Zeb’s vexation for impatience.

Kallus removes his fingers, the sheen of lube over them shining in the low light. He wipes them on the mattress before wiggling closer, slotting Zeb’s hard cock against his backside. (Zeb is due for laundry in the morning, he always is after they meet. Things tend to get messy.)

With trembling fingers, Zeb takes himself in hand and uses the other to expose Kallus’s slick hole once again. He tests the stretch, because he knows how Kallus doesn’t care about himself enough and he doesn’t want to risk hurting him. His thumb slips in easily, Kallus’s eager ass taking it in as the man groans.

“And now you tease.” Kallus squeezes around the digit inside of him. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” His irate tone makes Zeb chuckle as he removes his finger.

“Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m gonna,” Zeb says before pressing the pointed head of his cock against Kallus’s entrance. “Just makin’ sure you’re ready for me.”

And Kallus can’t find a snarky retort, because Zeb starts slowly entering him. Kallus takes it all, ridges and spines, inch after inch. The sloppy noise as the bulging middle part of Zeb’s shaft slips in makes the Lasat moan. He is fascinated, entranced at the ease with which Kallus can fit all of him.

Kallus has prepared, it’s obvious now. The ex-Imperial must have spent time spreading himself on lonely nights, pushing his limits. He’s been thinking about Zeb, planning for him. The line between them is getting blurry. The realization is terrifying. It’s a cliff that Zeb steps right off with his eyes closed.

Zeb bottoms out, and Kallus’s body shakes. These muscled shoulders and thighs tense up, and his breathing comes in faster.

“Relax, Alexsandr. I’ve got you.” Zeb brushes the damp hair out of the nape of Kallus’s neck and gently rubs circles on the soft flesh there. His other hand is holding Kallus’s hip, trying to support his weight. Zeb has noticed how Kallus has been using his cane more in recent days, and he doesn’t want his old injury to worsen.

The use of Kallus’s first name only registers after, and Zeb feels embarrassed. He’s messed it up again, made it personal. But it works. Kallus relaxes around him, the soft whine coming from his throat sounding more like pleasure than pain.

“I’m gonna move now, okay?” Zeb says softly.

“Pl-ah! Please,” Kallus begs, and he lifts up his hips in time with Zeb’s experimental thrusts, building a rhythm between them.

It’s slow at first, they test their limits, find out what the other can take. Zeb knows that his spines are unlike what Kallus has ever experienced with a human. He wants Kallus to enjoy it. To remember, even when he’s with someone else.

But when Kallus starts enthusiastically bouncing on his lap, Zeb’s previous restraint goes out the window. He grabs the other man's waist with both hands and lifts him up and down while his furred hips thrust hard and fast.

It’s a blur after that, Kallus mewling and moaning as he holds on for dear life, fisting the soft fur of Zeb’s thighs. Zeb growls, speaking filth in Lasana that he knows Kallus doesn’t understand.

_I’m gonna ruin you for anyone who comes after me._

_Gonna mark you up so everyone knows who you’ve been with._

He doesn’t really mean it. Zeb isn’t that possessive, even for a Lasat, and he’s very aware that he’s not Kallus’s boyfriend. Not his anything, really.

But the sight of the man riding him, golden hair drenched in sweat, head thrown back as curses spill from his lips, it brings out the worst parts of Zeb. Because he wants Kallus, not just in this room, but in the broad daylight, in ways that don't involve them getting drunk and naked.

Zeb is about to break, to reveal everything and destroy the delicate equilibrium of their relationship, when Kallus clenches around him and cries out his name.

Breath catches in Zeb’s throat and his knot swells. He tries to pull Kallus off, because it would be too much for both of them, to be joined in such an intimate way, but the ex-Imperial catches his wrist and forces himself down, the growing bulge catching on his rim.

The spines covering Zeb’s length fill up and grow, expanding inside of Kallus’s body as Zeb’s hips buck forward. Seconds later, Zeb comes, unable to remove himself in time. His seed paints Kallus’s inside and his knot reaches its full size, locking them together.

Above him, Kallus whimpers, fucking _whimpers,_ as his entire body shivers under the overload of sensation and he follows Zeb in a cry of ecstasy, spilling over his own stomach. Zeb keeps coming for a while, filling Kallus up with so much come that some ends up trickling out despite the knot plugging him up.

Kallus collapses forward, palms flat between Zeb’s legs. He pants, his muscles squeezing around Zeb’s shaft while he tries to gather his thoughts. Zeb himself is slumped on his back, aftershocks running through his body as the last drops of come spill out of his cock.

When he manages to open his eyes, he can see Kallus's strong shoulders shivering and shifting as the man tries to recover his bearings. A droplet of sweat is running between his shoulder blades and Zeb catches it, smearing it over the burning expanse of skin.

Zeb’s clawed hand doesn’t leave Kallus’s back. Instead, he starts poking at the constellation of freckles that dot the man’s entire back. He starts on his left shoulder, a little tap on each as he makes his way across to the right.

They’re stuck like this for at least a dozen minutes, so Zeb figures he'd better find something to do since Kallus isn’t very talkative. He won’t hold it against him, the ex-Imperial is likely still trying to remember how words work after that impressive climax.

Freckle after freckle, Zeb keeps counting, not realizing that he’s actually started saying the numbers under his breath.

 _Thirty-five._ He’s almost done with the right shoulder, and he makes his way down, hovering over Kallus’s lats.

 _Forty-one._ Kallus starts exhaling and inhaling in time with his touch.

 _Forty-three._ Zeb’s fingers meet a scar, a patch of white over Kallus’s spine. He doesn’t ask. Kallus relaxes as soon as he moves on.

 _Forty-seven._ He reaches around Kallus’s side, under his arm, and Kallus’s breath hitches.

 _Forty-eight._ No, not exactly. Kallus _snorts_ and it is ridiculous and so endearing.

“Alexsandr Kallus, are you _ticklish_?”

“...No.”

Zeb raises an eyebrow at that and wiggles all four of his fingers in that same spot. Instantly, Kallus straightens up, wheezing uncontrollably.

“You were sayin’?”

“Al-alright, so maybe I’m a little sensitive.” Kallus mumbles, trying to settle his voice after Zeb’s teasing.

“Ticklish.” Zeb corrects him.

“If you insist.”

Suddenly, Kallus tenses up, clenching around the shaft still inside of him. His hands fist the bed sheets until his knuckles turn white. Zeb gently strokes his hips, waiting for him to relax.

“Doing okay?”

“Hmm-mm.” Kallus nods, even if his body is still taut and flushed.

“I can’t believe you tried to take my knot.”

“And _succeeded_.”

“I will say it again, you’re a maniac.” Zeb can see the hint of a smile forming on Kallus’s lips from where he’s lying under him.

It’s strange that they can talk like this, like things are normal despite the fact that Zeb has Kallus knotted flush. _At Kallus’s request_. It makes Zeb yearn for more of this side of the ex-Imperial, vulnerable and open.

“I trust you won’t reveal my weakness to everyone?” Kallus looks over his shoulder with a coy glance.

“Waddya mean?”

“The ticklishness?” Kallus says, raising an angular eyebrow. He’s still smiling.

“I would _never_ ,” Zeb swears. He hesitates for an instant before adding. “Although, for a crate of good Corellian whiskey…”

“Zeb.”

“I’m kidding, Alex. Your secret’s safe with me.” Zeb figures that if he’s just used Kallus’s first name again -worse, his nickname- he might as well go all in. He props himself up and presses a gentle kiss between Kallus’s shoulders in an earnest display of tenderness.

Thankfully, it’s also at that same time that his cock slips out, the knot having deflated enough to leave Kallus’s hole. A mess of semen spills over Zeb’s lap and Kallus keens at the sudden emptiness.

It’s filthy, drenching the both of them and putting a firm stop to their conversation. Kallus stumbles off Zeb’s body, some more seed leaking out as he moves. He seems to be wincing, the muscles in his thighs quivering as he scrambles off of the bed. Kallus reaches unsteadily for his discarded boxers, and Zeb wants, more than anything, to hold him.

“We -uh- we probably need to clean up,” Zeb mumbles instead. If he holds Kallus here and now, after they’re done, he’s breaching the terms of their relationships. They made this promise, and it’s been difficult enough to keep as is.

 _Remember_ , he reminds himself. _No attachment_. They agreed. Zeb _promised_. This is nothing. Just two friends, getting some steam out together.

So when Kallus turns around and looks at him in the dark of the room, a shadow of something warm and yearning in his amber eyes, Zeb is left confused. For a moment, he wonders if he should say something.

“I’ll borrow the ’fresher, if you don’t mind,” Kallus says softly, and the moment is gone. Without another word he leaves the room, having put his underwear back on and tucked the rest of his clothes under his arm.

He leaves quietly.

Zeb is left with a sticky bed and more questions that he doesn’t have the answers to.

They’re not friends, not anymore. They’re not lovers. It’s an in-between state, a limbo of feelings that cannot last. Something has to give, someone has to break.

Zeb hopes it won’t be him.


	3. It can only end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was inspired by art by the wonderful [@vintaged](https://vintagedowl.tumblr.com/), which is also featured in the text itself!

Zeb sits down at the table for breakfast one morning when he feels Hera’s gaze on him. She is sitting in front of him, Jacen on her lap as she drinks her morning caf. She’s not actually talking, but Zeb feels her eyes burning holes in his ruffling fur.

“Is Kallus going to be joining us for breakfast?”

Zeb almost chokes on his caf. _How does she-?_

“Listen, Zeb.” She shuffles Jacen around, making sure the toddler is comfortable. “You’re many wonderful things, but discreet isn’t one of them.”

“Ah. So you’ve seen…” Zeb’s fur is almost standing upright in embarrassment. He ransacks his mind trying to figure out what compromising position she might have caught him in.

“Not much, thanks the stars. But Kallus does slip out of your cabin in the middle of the night every week or so.”

“It’s not-” Zeb interjects, trying to save face. But he can’t, because Hera _knows_. “It’s nothing.”

“Zeb.”

“We’re just friends.” Zeb’s ears fold back and he stubbornly stares into his caf as it rapidly grows cold.

“It’s Kallus. Nothing’s ever been simple between you two.” Hera says as gently as she can. She moves her hand on top of Zeb’s, stroking the back of his palm with her thumb.

“I don’t know,” Zeb finally admits. “I have no kriffin’ clue what I’m doing.”

“What’s the situation then? I have good experience with complicated relationships, trust me.” Hera says, and even though she means well, now Zeb feels guilty of dredging up painful memories. Kanan’s death is still an open wound.

“You don’t hafta…”

“We’re family. I want to help you with whatever this thing is.”

Zeb sighs, and looks into Hera’s kind eyes. He doesn’t want to burden her with his own romantic drama, not when she’s been through so much. But he remembers what he said to Kallus, weeks before, about asking for help when you need it.

“Alright. But you might want to cover the lil’ one’s ears.”

“Raunchy details then?” Hera’s grinning now. Maybe hearing someone else’s struggle does lessen her own.

“Eh. Kinda.”

“I’m all ears.” Hera tucks her hands under her chin and raises her eyebrows, goading Zeb on.

He tells her everything. (Well, most things. He tries to keep his tale as tame as he can. No need to mention how good Kallus is with his mouth.) Hera listens attentively, never interrupting.

“So yeah. We sleep together then pretend nothing’s happening. That’s pretty much it.” Zeb concludes, rubbing the back of his neck. He knows it makes him look like a fool but he hopes Hera won’t judge him too harshly.

“Zeb. You love him.” Hera says, and it makes Zeb cringe.

He knows how he feels about Kallus, against all odds. He knows he wants him in and out of his bed. But hearing it out loud is almost shameful, like a child caught doing what he shouldn’t.

“I know what he used to be. I _know_.” Zeb takes a sip of his mug, only to grimace. The caf’s gone cold and the milk somehow makes it worse.

“I’m not reprimanding you. You’re the one he hurt most; if you can forgive him, _love_ him, no one will hold against you.” Hera’s words make Zeb’s heart swell.

Deep in his heart, he always felt like his attraction to Kallus was something he should hide, that people wouldn’t understand. To hear Hera, his family, tell him he’s alright? It changes everything.

“Kriff. I do love him.” Zeb blurts out, his voice shuddering. “But that’s not how he feels, anyway.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Did you ever ask him?”

“He brought it up. That we should stay friends.” Zeb does air-quotes around that last word and almost rolls his eyes. Of course Kallus doesn’t love him back.

_Doesn’t he?_

“Okay, okay, don’t get grumpy. I’m just saying it’s obvious you’re important to him too.” Hera scoffs.

“Hmm-mm.”

Almost like clockwork, Jacen starts crying. Sometimes Zeb wonders if he’s force-sensitive like his father. That or he’s just six months old and hungry. Nevertheless, Hera starts swaddling him and brings him closer to her chest. When they’re close like that, one can see the green of Hera’s skin perfectly matches the spots on Jacen’s skin.

“Hera,” Zeb says softly, trying not to make the kid cry again. “Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Talking with me. I know you have other stuff to worry about.”

“Nonsense. I just want my family to be happy.” Hera says as she gently rocks Jacen back and forth. She looks up, and points at the holo display behind Zeb. “And for you not to be late for your shift in engineering.”

“Karabast!”

Zeb ends up late anyway. When he stumbles into the hangar, most people are already hard at work on the rebel fleet, replacing damaged plating and repainting the alliance colors.

He tries to make small talk, to focus on the X-wing he’s running vitals for, but all he can think about is Kallus.

A man that he loves, despite it all.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Zeb wants to take over the main comm, and let everyone know that he _loves_ Kallus, that this wonderful and brilliant and conflicted man is is kriffin’ soulmate.

He wants to run across the base and sweep Kallus in his arms and kiss him in front of the whole Intelligence cohort.

He wants to tell Kallus the truth of his feelings and he holds hope they’re returned.

He gets his chance, soon enough. It’s a simple recovery mission, getting data from an undercover Fulcrum agent and getting out. But the planet they’re going to is a known hive of villainy and fraught with Imperial forces. It makes sense to send a bruiser with their intelligence operative.

That’s how Zeb and Kallus end up running from a platoon of stormtroopers covered in unidentifiable sludge. The planet is hot and muggy, and Zeb strongly regrets taking up Kallus’s suggestion that they escape the city using the sewer systems.

It didn’t start out too bad, the informant was on time, and the data checked out. That was before they ran onto an overeager trooper who decided to pick a fight with Zeb over “improper conduct”. Tough luck, because nothing would ever make Zeb salute an Imp, even for a mission.

So he knocked the guy out and ended up with the entire platoon on their tail.

Standard.

They run through the dense jungle, rushing towards their small craft. Kallus has managed to take out a couple troopers, but his bad leg is starting to make itself known. He’s limping and he almost trips over the roots on the ground.

“Kal!” Zeb calls out his name as he catches the other man. “We’re almost there.”

“They’re not far behind. We need a distraction.” Kallus pants as he leans against Zeb, pushing himself up.

“I’m pretty good at that. Go.” Zeb says. He takes his bo-rifle off his back and starts taking aim.

Kallus gives a pleading look, but Zeb pushes him forward.

“Go! I’ll catch up, I promise.”

With relief, Zeb sees Kallus dash towards the ship. The man is too stubborn for his own good, as if Zeb couldn’t take on some stormtroopers. In a jungle, no less.

Despite the smothering heat, the trees are a natural environment for a Lasat. Zeb climbs up, settling just under the canopy. His stripes blend with the nearby foliage as he stands completely still.

When the troopers get there, they don’t see him. He moves from branch to branch, only the slightest flutter of leaves betraying his presence. He is in his element, and it’s almost too easy. Almost.

Zeb drops from the tree, crushing two troopers under his weight. He brandishes his rifle and shoots the squad leader, who crumbles with his orange pauldron. Only three troopers are left and they don’t seem willing to fight.

“If you run, I won’t chase ya.” Zeb declares.

And to his joy, the troopers flee as fast as they can, dropping the weapons and running for their lives. It’s good to be intimidating sometimes.

Okay, maybe it’s not all his Lasat stature. Maybe it also has to do with the familiar sound of a ship behind him and the heat of lasers ready to fire.

The cargo ship settles, bending trees around as it touches the ground.

“Zeb! Let’s go!” Kallus shouts through the comms. There’s no time to lose.

Zeb jumps into the hatch, the door slamming shut as Kallus takes the ship out of the atmosphere. When the familiar rumbling of a hyperspace jump makes the hold shake, Zeb finally relaxes.

He makes his way to the pilot’s cabin, trailing sewer slime all over the small ship. There, he finds Kallus, still inputting coordinates into the navigation system. When he hears Zeb enter the cabin, the ex-Imperial turns around with a wide smile brightening his face.

“We made it.” Kallus says, and his voice is so clear and hopeful.

 _I love you,_ Zeb thinks.

“Damn right we did.”

Kallus has swivelled the pilot’s chair around and he’s looking at Zeb, something inscrutable in his eyes

“I was worried about you.” Kallus says. He raises his arm and cups Zeb’s jaw in his palm, thumb resting just next to his lips.

“I’m fine.”

Zeb reaches for the other man’s shoulder and ends up burying his hand in a thick blob of sewer sludge that is sticking to the rebellion-issued jacket. Silently, Zeb tears his hand from the sticky substance as it drips on the floor between them. They both freeze for a second before bursting in laughter.

They are covered from head to toe in the stuff, scratches on every patch of uncovered skin from their escape through the jungle, but they are _alive._ And they are together.

“We need to shower, I believe.” Kallus remarks, mischief in his amber eyes.

“You invitin’ me?” Zeb takes the bait, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculous manner he knows Kallus finds endearing.

“The sonic is barely big enough for me,” Kallus stands up. “Later.”

It sounds like a promise and it makes Zeb’s blood boil.

_I love you._

Zeb paces in front the ‘fresher while Kallus takes care of the mess, his pulse so loud in his ears over the sound of the sonic. He thinks of the human, naked, under the pale lights of the minuscule shower, uncovered in a way Zeb has never experienced . He’s always too drunk, the room too dark. But he’s desperate to _see_.

He imagines the freckles that must surely wrap around Kallus’s front, the soft expense of his stomach, dotted with golden hair. He pictures himself kneeling down, kissing every inch of flesh he could reach while they’re pressed together in that tiny refresher.

The sound of the door sliding open interrupts his daydream.

Kallus steps out and before Zeb can react, shoves the Lasat in the bathroom.

“I’ll be waiting in the cockpit. Don’t take too long.”

_I love you._

It’s a rush, getting clean. Zeb tears off his stained clothes, bumping his elbows against every wall. He probably bruises something when he falls backward under the sonic and slams against the pipes but he doesn’t care. Kallus is out there, waiting for _him_.

Images of Kallus getting himself ready in the pilot chair makes slick pool inside his sheath. He doesn’t need anything to feel drunk but the idea of Kallus wanting him, needing him.

Zeb doesn’t even bother waiting for his jumpsuit to dry. He steps out of the refresher naked as he was born and heads directly for the pilot’s chair where he pictured Kallus opening himself up.

Reality doesn’t exactly match up. Kallus is sitting in the chair, yes, but he’s dressed, plotting their course on the console. He does look oh so good, his hair soft and slightly messy, wearing only his ochre shirt and pants.

“Oh.” Kallus notices Zeb’s state of undress as his eyebrows shoot up. He clearly takes his time leering at the Lasat, but he doesn’t make a move.

“Karabast, I’m sorry. I thought ye meant...” Zeb starts turning around, his fur sticking up on end in embarrassment.

“Zeb, stay.” Kallus gets up, rotating the chair around as he approaches Zeb. “I _was_ planning on doing this later.”

 _He means when we’re both drunk_ , Zeb concludes.

“But,” Kallus continues. He wraps his arms around Zeb’s waist. “We have some time until we reach Yavin VI.”

Kallus uses his grip to maneuver Zeb into the pilot’s chair, and Zeb lets him. He can’t resist when the other man takes control like that.

Furred leg spread wide to accommodate Kallus’s strong build as he settles over Zeb, his arms framing the other man head when he grips the back of the chair. His mouth is hovering just above the Lasat’s lips, teasing what’s to come.

Intimately close that way, Zeb can see the light of the hyperspace trail reflected in amber eyes, the pale glow highlighting the sharp features and the facial hair that softens them now. He’s captivated, enraptured by how much beauty he can find in the face of a man who has caused so much pain.

When lips press against his own in a wet slide, Zeb hums in satisfaction. They’ve shared many kisses by now, but they always thrill him, the feel of Kallus’s lips coursing through his body like lightning.

The human moves in even closer, straddling Zeb’s lap like he did months ago, when they first started this thing that they have. That Zeb believes means more. Could be more.

It’s different from that first time, nevertheless. They’re sober, for once. And there’s no risk of interruption. So nothing stops Kallus from gingerly popping off the buttons of his pants and pulling down his fly, palming himself under Zeb’s hungry gaze.

“Fuck. That’s hot.” Zeb says, the words inadvertently slipping from his mouth.

Kallus doesn’t answer, but he lets out a loud moan as he rocks against Zeb’s naked body. He buries his head in the soft crook of the Lasat’s neck, his ragged breath rustling the purple fur.

The feel of the fabric of Kallus’s pants desperately rocking against his crotch has Zeb’s cock peeking out fast, and after a couple minutes of breathless kissing, he is fully hard, leaking copious amounts of slick against Kallus’s stomach and staining his shirt.

The human pulls back and looks down at his ruined clothing, and he laughs, a bright genuine laugh that Zeb will never get enough of, before running his fingers through the alien slick and back up into his mouth. He makes an obscene ‘pop’ as he sucks each finger clean, Zeb’s fur ruffling wildly at every new digit.

“There. Clean.” Kallus says as he wiggles his fingers with a cheeky smile.

“I don’t think that’s how that works.” Zeb grumbles in embarrassment.

“I think it does the job perfectly. It gets _you_ worked up.” Kallus jests as he still removes his shirt to avoid any further stains.

_I love you._

Zeb doesn’t say the words. But he can’t help an admirative glance at Kallus’s body. The man’s gotten softer with his rebellion, but the rolls of fat around his midsection don’t repulse the Lasat at all. If anything, it makes him want to grab onto them as he bounces Kallus on his cock.

That’s not on the menu for this encounter. Worked up as Zeb is, and in such close quarters, their hands will have to do.

As if he’s read Zeb’s mind, Kallus pulls his shaft out of his underwear, pulling the fabric down just enough to rest his balls above the worn elastic. His cock stands proudly against Zeb’s, pink and smooth against the Lasat’s deep purple spines and it makes for a striking picture.

As he mouths at Zeb’s feline ear, Kallus wraps his hand around both of their shafts and starts slowly stroking them as best as he can. The lubrication coming from Zeb’s sheath helps, but with the alien girth, human hands can barely encircle the two of them.

“Here, let me help.” Zeb murmurs as he takes over, his much bigger paw covering Kallus’s hand.

The hitch in the other man’s breath is a boon for Zeb’s ego. He knows he’s _big_ , much larger than a human in every way, but he loves the way it affects Kallus. The other man can’t stop the quiet moans that slip from his parted lips, the hiccup when Zeb’s fist twists around their shafts.

Kallus grabs on Zeb’s arms, holding on for dear life as the rhythm of the strokes get faster. His golden hair is falling above his eyes, sticking against his panting mouth in a disheveled display that makes Zeb absolutely wild.

“I-I won’t last.” Kallus gasps quietly. He thrusts into Zeb’s fist, meeting the Lasat’s motions.

Zeb is also close. He doesn’t know if it’s the heat radiating from Kallus’s body, or the fact that they’re face to face, but he can feel the pressure building in the pit of his stomach as his strokes grow faster.

With a whine, Kallus clasps both his hands around Zeb’s face, pressing against his lips in a filthy kiss. His thrusts become erratic, uncoordinated as he struggles to keep their mouth joined.

“Ah! _Oh_ , Zeb!” Kallus sobs as he comes, warm seed spilling out of the other man’s tight fist. He pulls back from the kiss, his lips shiny with spit and his hair in disarray. The way he closes his eyes and lets his mouth gape open at Zeb’s next stroke is enough to bring the Lasat over the edge.

The spines circling the head of his cocks expand at once, the ones dotting his shaft following in a ripple as Zeb spills onto both his and Kallus’s stomach. His knot swells, pushing his hand up.

He looks up from the mess covering his paw to meet Kallus’s heated gaze and he cannot help but speak the truth.

“Kal, I lov-”

“Don’t,” Kal pushes a finger against Zeb’s lips. “ Please, don’t.”

Zeb feels like his heart is about to give out. His eyes dart wildly around the cockpit as panic washes over him. He can barely breathe, every part of his body feels on fire yet he can’t look at Kallus, can’t even move as the other man gets off his lap in silence.

He’s naked and mortified that he ever hoped, that he somehow believed Kallus of all people would love him back. He’s not crying, because that’s not him, but his eyes are burning in humiliation.

From the corner of his eyes, Zeb can see Kallus putting his shirt back on. For an instant, the ex-imperial seems like he’s about to speak, hand raised toward the pilot’s chair, but he renounces with a shake of his head as he flees towards the back of the ship.

Good. Zeb doesn’t want to, no, he _cannot_ talk to him. He feels dirty, despite his earlier shower. The spend on his stomach feels disgusting, and he almost wants to rip the sticky fur off. He needs every trace of Kallus gone, his come, his sweat, his smell.

Zeb furiously makes his way to the fresher, and stands under the sonic, his head resting against the steel wall. The water is way too hot, and it hurts, singing his shoulders, but that’s what he needs. Anything to wash away the shame.

The rest of the trip back to Yavin VI is a blur. Zeb stays locked in the fresher for a while and even after he leaves, he pointedly avoids the cockpit as he hunkers back in the cargo bay. He can’t stop replaying the rejection in his head, the feel of Kallus’s finger on his lips lingering there like a phantom limb.

He feels sick. Stuck. The metal hull of the ship is oppressive, weighing down on him. The hyperspace jump seems to take forever, the notion of time gone in the void of space.

“Starting landing sequence.” Kallus’s voice rings over the internal comms and Zeb bites down a growl.

 _You can’t even face me. Coward._ Zeb mulls over the anger he’s feeling towards Kallus. He’s past the shame and now all he feels is resentment. The Lasat blames himself for reading too much into the other’s man actions, sure, but the fault is also Kallus’s, who went along with this, the sober sex, the gentler kisses. He strung Zeb on, made him believe he had a chance, and he broke his heart.

The comm speaker crackles, echoing around the cargo bay, but no words are spoken. The ship lands with a dull thud, the hull trembling as it meets solid ground, and the _thing_ they had ends.

The following weeks are painful. Zeb does his best to avoid Kallus, taking the long way around the Intelligence quarters and staying inside the Ghost as much as possible. Jacen is thankful for the extra attention, and Hera gladly welcomes the help. At first.

Soon enough, she sees through Zeb’s game.

“Zeb. You can’t be here.” Hera crosses her arms and glares at Zeb. He’s currently on the floor, watching over Jacen as the little boy plays with neon-colored cubes.

“Why not? Jacen’s happy to have me around.” Zeb affectionately boops the toddler’s nose and makes him giggle. “Right, little guy?”

“May I remind you you have a job in the Rebellion? And it’s not as a baby-sitter?” Zeb cringes at Hera’s sharp remark. He knows he’s been hiding from his responsibilities, not just from Kallus, but he still doesn’t like hearing it.

“Fine. What do you want me to do,” Zeb sighs.

“First, get your butt to the chief of security and ask for your briefing. Second,” Hera steps closer and pokes Zeb’s chest with one gloved finger. “Deal with whatever is going on between you and Kallus.”

“Nothing’s going on. Not anymore.”

“Then why are you moping?” She raises an eyebrow at Zeb before picking Jacen off the ground.

“I’m not moping. In fact, I’m leaving.” Zeb throws his arms in the air, dramatically exiting Kanan’s old room. It’s been repurposed as a nursery for Jacen, and painted to match by Sabine before she left for Mandalore. It’s lovely, and it feels safe, but Hera’s right.

Zeb has to move on.

The hangar is quiet as Zeb makes his round. It’s getting late, and he’s barely made it back to the main temple after going through his assigned patrol route. The chief of security made sure to give the Lasat the longest and most demanding route, as payback for his missed weeks of work, Zeb’s sure. If he’s honest with himself, he deserves it.

Despite the searing heat, the patrol isn’t even too bad. It’s quiet, and the path takes him to most remote temples where he has time to think. By the time he’s back to checking the hangar’s systems, he feels almost calm for the time in weeks. The rage he’d been feeling towards Kallus, simmering under his skin, seemed to have cooled into a quiet lake.

The green jacket attracts his hand like a magnet. The person wearing it turns around and when it comes to light they’re not Kallus, Zeb pointedly ignores the ache in his chest.

“Karabast, ‘m sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Zeb takes a step back, hunching over as not to seem too intimidating. It’s a reflex when he meets new people, particularly humans.

“It’s alright! That’s been happening a lot, I guess I just have a common face.” The jacket-clad human smiles back at him.

They don’t exactly stand out, with their short brown mop of hair, starting to line with grey, and tan skin, but the sharp edges of their cheekbones and the crooked bow of their lips are quite attractive.

“Nah, I just wasn’t paying attention.” Zeb rubs one paw across the back of his neck, betraying his nervousness. “You new here?”

“I am. Joined up last month.” The human answers just as Zeb notices their jumpsuit under the green jacket. A flyer, then.

“The pilots have been treating you alright?”

“They stuck me with that grumpy astromech over there,” They point to a teal-colored astromech, old and bulky enough it could be mistaken for a gonk-droid, which gives a disagreeing noise in response. “But it’s not so bad. I get to fly.”

“Glad to hear that.” Zeb gives them a grin and moves in closer.

“I’m Ghillie, by the way.” They lean back against one of the X-Wings of the hangar in a way that is _definitely_ flirtatious.

“Garazeb. But everyone calls me Zeb.” Zeb extends his hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you, _Garazeb_.” Ghillie shakes Zeb’s hand, but the Lasat barely notices how their hold lingers.

Because they’ve just said his name wrong. It’s not surprising or unexpected, as most species have trouble rolling the ‘r’ the right way.

But Kallus did. Every time he called Zeb’s name, from that night he was rescued above Attolon to their heated embraces, he said it perfectly.

 _Ga-ra-zeb._ A crystal clear image of Kallus’s lips parting open as they roll over each syllable of his name fills Zeb’s head. How many times did he practice? Was it his way to bridge the gap between them, back when they were just tentative allies?

The shadow cast by the X-wing invokes other memories of Kallus. Of long walks after shifts where they talked about their day, their lives, their hopes for the future. Of shared drinks and shared dreams.

Damn it all, Zeb can’t ignore the ache anymore. He misses Kallus. Terribly. The man might be an impenetrable mystery but Zeb can’t bring himself to give him up so easily, not after everything they’ve been through.

Maybe Kallus doesn’t love him. But he’s his friend, and that should count for something.

“Zeb?” Ghillie is staring, head cocked to the side.

“It’s getting late. I’d better go.” Zeb grumbles. He feels bad for leading them on, but maybe he needed the wake-up call. Probably wouldn’t be fun for them to be with a man pining for his ex-enemy. (Ex-friend, ex-lover?)

“Oh. See you later?” They call out as Zeb takes off.

“Maybe! It was nice meeting ya!” Zeb waves back, but he’s already halfway across the landing field, headed towards the barracks.

He just makes it to the door of the hastily constructed building before stopping.

 _Maybe this isn’t right either._ Zeb thinks. He and Kallus have always acted impulsively, their relationship a series of rushed decisions. They rushed into sex, without talking about what either of them wanted, and that only ended with hurt. Maybe they don’t need another rushed reconciliation.

Maybe what they need is time.

Zeb’s paw drops back down.

He walks back to the Ghost in the dark, alone. With his heart lighter and his head full of hope.


	4. It's like stars colliding.

The days pass and Zeb still doesn’t find an occasion to talk to Kallus. The Imperial forces are starting to close in once more and the missions follow each other with no respite in sight. To make things worse, they rarely succeed. Zeb can count on one four-fingered hand the number of times everyone returned without any grave injuries. (He doesn’t think about the dead. He _cannot_ think about the dead.)

 _Still, Kallus is confined on base and Hera’s gotten more careful with Jacen around._ That’s his only silver lining, the knowledge that, at the very least, the people he cares about aren’t directly in danger. It doesn’t mean they’re safe, though, and Zeb takes double the workload to keep the Empire at bay.

He comes back exhausted from a rescue operation on Chandrila, fatigue clinging to his very bones. He knows that the ambush they almost lost half the squadron to wasn’t anyone’s fault, yet he still feels a pang of guilt when he sees a young Duros being carried to medical, half of her left leg a bloody mangled mess.

Zeb settles at the entrance of the infirmary, waiting to hear the news. (Hopefully the good kind, but he has learned not to hope lately.) The acrid smell of disinfectant and medicine makes him wrinkle his nose, but he can bear it. He starts thinking about what’s next, the checks he needs to run on the latest weapon shipment, the patrol route he walks every night. The Lasat rubs his forehead, groaning at the thought of the thousands of things he has on his plate.

“Captain Orrelios.” A strong hand claps Zeb’s shoulder.

“Uh?” Zeb turns around, finding himself face-to-face with the current chief of security for Yavin IV, a stern-faced human whose name he can’t quite remember. (The position changes hand fast these days, few can take the stress it entails.)

“Go get some rest. I admire your dedication, but you’ll be of no help to anyone if you can’t keep your eyes open.” The man’s tone is sharp, and the intensity of his stare almost makes Zeb turn away.

“Karabast.” Zeb swears, turning his eyes to the temple’s floor.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yessir.” Zeb walks away, burying away his feelings of shame. He’s fully aware of the irony of his situation, that while being away from Kallus, he’s been acting just like him: overworking himself in a futile attempt to save everyone, ignoring his body’s needs.

 _We were good for each other, who could’ve guessed._ Because when they were still together (No, not together, that would imply romantic feelings, and Zeb knows his were not returned.), he was the voice of reason to Kallus’s unhealthy work habits; and it kept him from making the same exact mistakes.

It’s still daytime when Zeb collapses on his bunk. The daylight seeps under the door and he’s still wearing his full armor; but he’s tired, oh so tired, and he falls asleep the moment he closes his eyes.

When he wakes up, he has no idea for how long he’s slept. His muscles ache and the armor has tangled the soft fur of his chest.

Zeb takes off the chest plate first, then the greaves, depositing each on a pile on the ground. He stretches, so much that he almost touches the ceiling at his full height, trying to dispel the grogginess he still feels.

He’s got his paw on the door button when he smells it.

_Kallus._

Kallus is on the Ghost. His scent is unmistakable to Zeb’s sensitive nose, a mix of caf and oil and old flimsi. It’s a whole lot nicer than the smell from medical and it makes Zeb’s heart swell and his steps quicken as he jogs toward the kitchen.

And he’s right. Kallus is there, standing by the small burner the crew uses to cook, focused on the small pan whose handle he’s gripping. He isn't wearing his holster nor his jacket, his hair held out of face in a haphazardly tied ponytail. The whole scene is so domestic, so casual, Zeb can’t help but imagine a future where they share a home. A family.

He shakes his head, dispelling the foolish idea. They’re barely talking as it stands, a relationship isn’t something he should even consider.

“Kallus?” Zeb softly asks, trying to get the man’s attention. He doesn’t dare call him _Kal_ , not after everything.

The sound of Zeb’s voice startles the ex-imperial, making him jerk to attention. He turns around and the way his eyes soften when he meets Zeb’s, well, it’s _everything_.

“Garazeb.” Kallus says Zeb’s name, rolling the syllables properly and making the Lasat’s heart ache. “I apologize. I thought you were asleep.”

“It’s alright.” Zeb takes a small step forward, trying to contain his overflowing feelings.

“I… I can go. I know you don’t want to see me.” Kallus’s gaze drops down as he turns off the burner, putting the pan away.

“It’s not like that.” Zeb sits down on a small stool, right behind Kallus. He gestures at the other seat. “Stay. Let’s talk.” He tries to make his words sound as gentle as he can, to convey that he’s not looking for a fight but a reconciliation.

“I don’t want to impose.” Kallus still doesn’t look at him, but he’s not trying to flee anymore. He’s standing very still, even stiller than his usual tight posture.

“Yer not. Plus, it’d be a waste of food if you just left whatever you’re cooking here.”

“It’s nothing special. Just something my mother used to make. I thought…” Kallus stops for an instant, and Zeb sees the slightest blush tint his pale face. “I don’t know, I thought you might be hungry when you woke up. I realize it’s quite silly now.”

“Ts’ not silly. I appreciate it.” Zeb can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. Stars, he’d missed this man. “You didn’t just come to the Ghost to make me a sandwich, right? Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture.”

Kallus shakes his head. “Hera asked me to look after Jacen for the night.”

The palatable tension that overwhelmed the room ever since Zeb stepped in seems to be fading, leaving only awkwardness behind. Awkward is fine. Awkward Zeb can deal with.

“How’s the little bogan?” Zeb tries to steer the conversation away from their relationship, to make Kallus feel at ease.

“I put him to bed some time ago, he’s been quiet.”

“Uh. Should have figured you’d be good with kids, with your sisters and all.” Zeb jests as he leans over the table, stretching his arms.

“Not quite. My sisters are both older than me. If anything, they’re the ones who took care of me as a child.” Kallus has turned his back on Zeb, but it doesn’t feel defensive. Shy, perhaps?

“Not your mom?”

“She tried her best. But she had three children to feed. The most I saw of her was at the diner where she worked.” Kallus’s voice gets very quiet at the mention of his mother.

“‘Where you got the sandwich from.”

“Hm-mm.”

Kallus turns the burner back on, and swirls the pan around, spreading the oil evenly. He cooks like he fights, Zeb notices, with no extraneous movements and intense focus. He’s probably not aware of the childish way his tongue pokes out as he carefully places the two sandwiches in the pan, making sure they’re aligned, but that just makes him _charming_.

Zeb watches him cook in comfortable silence, soaking into the domesticity as much as he can. He finds himself hoping for more moments of platonic closeness like these. He doesn’t need Kallus as his lover, he can deal with the ache, but he so desperately wants him as a friend once again.

Kallus deposits two plates on the small metal table, muttering something under his breath.

“Prijatnava?” Zeb asks. He’s never heard the language before, and even less so from Kallus.

The other man visibly blushes in embarrassment. “Prijatnava Appetita. It’s just a saying you use before you eat.”

“That’s not Basic.” Zeb points out, before taking a look at the sandwich in front of him.

It’s just cheese between two slices of toast (not even nice cheese, it’s the cheap blue milk stuff you find in rations). The bottom is a bit too burnt and the cheese is melting off the sides but it’s _homely_. It’s something Zeb couldn’t have imagined “Agent Kallus” would make for him in a thousand years.

“Indeed, it is not. It’s Baltali.” Kallus only keeps going after Zeb raises an inquisitive brow. “I wasn’t actually born on Coruscant. I moved there with my mother and sisters when I was five.”

“No way. Couldn’t ever have figured that out with that posh core accent you’ve got.”

“Well, Baltal is a mid-rim planet. And the “posh core accent”, as you call it, that helped me fit in at the Academy.”

“Aren’t ye full of surprises.”

Kallus doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a bite of his sandwich. He clearly enjoys it, the usual frown of his brows softening and a soft hum escaping his mouth. The relaxed expression on his face is enough for Zeb to imagine Kallus as a child, sitting in a booth too big for him as he waits for his mother to finish her shift.

The food itself is...okay. The taste of butter is a bit too strong and the center isn’t crisp enough but Zeb would be damned if it’s not filling. They both eat in relative silence, almost like two wild animals being introduced to each other once again.

It’s a few minutes before Kallus speaks. He puts down his hands, wiping them on a rag hung next to the stove, then interlaces his fingers in front of him. It’s almost as if he’s praying, and his voice is soft to match.

“Garazeb, I… I need to apologize.”

“Hey, it’s alr-”

“No, it is not.” Kallus interrupts Zeb sharply. “I was unkind to you. I knew how you felt about me, yet I led you on. I should have rebuffed you that first night, and instead I hurt you deeply.” His voice is steady, like he’s rehearsed the words a thousand times.

“You said we should stay friends, Kal. I’m the one who didn’t respect that. I can’t force you to feel the same way that I do.” Zeb means that. He’s made his peace with the facts in the past month. That is, until Kallus corrects him.

“You’re not forcing me.”

Zeb’s heart skips a beat.

He stands up in a hurry, knocking over his seat. (He doesn’t even care, or notices, because his whole world has been turned on its head. Kallus tends to do that.)

“What do you mean? Do you-?” His furry ears fold down out of shock. _He can’t. It’s not possible. He-?_

“I served the Empire. I was on Lasan. It’s not right.”

Zeb moves closer, towering over Kallus’s seated form. He reaches for Kallus’s jaw and to his joy, the other man doesn’t push him away. Zeb’s big paw cradles Kallus’s face and turns it slightly so the other man is looking at him.

“Kal. Please.” He begs.

“We’re at war. You’ve lost enough people already; if we were to-” Kallus’s voice grows softer, as if he’s running out of excuses.

“I don’t care about that. I don’t care that you used to be an Imp. I care that you wanted me back the whole kriffin’ time and you wouldn’t tell me. ”

“I couldn’t. I _can’t_.” Kallus is pleading now, but his eyes are soft, and they tell an entirely different story.

“Do it fer me, then.” Zeb kneels, making his gaze level with Kallus’s. “We don’t have to make a big deal out of it, just... Give it a shot?”

“I’m not like you.” The words don’t sound harsh. If anything, Kallus sounds incredibly sad. “You’re quite open with your affections and, well, I’m very much the opposite.”

“And ya think I didn’t notice that? And her’ I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.” Zeb grins wide, fangs glinting under the pale artificial light of the kitchen.

“Garazeb!” Kallus scolds. “You’re very bright, please don’t listen to- Hmmpf!”

Kallus doesn’t get the chance to finish his rebuttal. Zeb kisses him, like he’s kissed him a hundred times before, but this time it’s different, because he knows Kallus loves him.

Kallus _loves_ him.

He feels drunk, his head spinning with the realization that his feelings are returned, that Kallus, despite his emotional hang-ups, loves _him_. That it was never just about the sex. That he gets to have this man, to kiss him and hold him and maybe one day, do so in broad daylight.

The kiss is chaste, tender, so unlike any kiss they’ve shared before. Zeb feels Kallus’s lips softly push against his own, he tastes the aftertaste of butter on his tongue.

“Let me say it. Just this once.” Zeb asks after he pulls away from Kallus’s lips. (It feels like a first kiss, and in many ways, it is.)

Kallus hesitates for an instant, swallowing his doubts. He doesn’t answer with any words, but he nods ever so slightly.

“I _love you_. I kriffin’ love you, Alexsandr, even if yer the most infuriating man in the galaxy.” Zeb’s voice falters a little bit, but he holds on, because he finally gets to say the words he’s been holding onto for so long. “Ye don’t have to answer, but I mean every word. I promise”

“Thank you.” It’s barely a whisper from Kallus, but Zeb picks up on it nonetheless.

He slowly wraps his hand around Kallus’s and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of his hand. He rubs the soft freckled skin there with his thumb, enjoying the way Kallus’s breath hitches when he interlaces their fingers.

“You can stay for the night, if you want. Or at least spend a little time in my cabin.” Zed offers with a cheeky lopsided smile. He knows it’s forward of him to suggest sex so early, but frankly, he’s missed the feel of Kallus’s body against his own too much.

“I think I can do that.” Kallus smiles back, his first smile since Zeb stepped in. His sideburns curl up with his lips and his entire face relaxes.

Kallus stands up, his hand still joined with Zeb’s. He picks up the two plates and drops them in the sink, letting the dishes be tomorrow’s problem. Zeb is thankful, because his entire body is silently thrumming in excitement, a purr starting to escape his throat.

They slowly walk towards Zeb’s cabin, trying not to wake Jacen. Kallus isn’t wearing any shoes, Zeb notices, just a pair of very worn and mismatched socks. It makes his step even lighter than usual, his heels barely making a sound as they hit the metal grating on the floor.

When they walk in the messy cabin, Zeb reaches for the light switch. Kallus stops him. He gently tears Zeb’s paw away from the panel, and leads him towards the bunks instead.

Zeb has never seen the ex-imperial like this, so vulnerable. Yet wanting, a blush showing under his freckled skin as he tugs at his shirt. Silently, Zeb helps him remove the garment, pulling it off Kallus’s outstretched arms. His golden hair in complete disarray, the band holding it together fallen to the ground, and he’s everything Zeb has ever dreamed of.

Under the light of the ceiling lamps, Zeb gets to bask in the glory of Kallus’s body, his chest dotted in freckles (as Zeb imagined on that ship, what feels a lifetime ago), a trail of light brown hair blossoming from his chest and leading down under his trousers.

Kallus’s hand reaches for the zipper of Zeb’s jumpsuit, clever fingers pulling the metal tab down to reveal the light lavender fur underneath. He keeps going, and Zeb lets him. He lets Kallus unravel him, lay him bare under his amber gaze.

He steps out of the legs of his jumpsuit, now completely naked.

“Yer overdressed.” Zeb mumbles as he pulls at the fly of Kallus’s pants. He tugs the trousers down, past the curve of the other man’s ass, pulling him close.

Quickly divesting himself of the last of his clothing, Kallus indulges Zeb, wrapping his arms around the Lasat, one hand on the small of his back, the other cradling his head. He pulls him into a kiss, one much filthier than what they shared back in the kitchen.

Zeb growls possessively against Kallus’s mouth, parting his lips to allow the human to taste him. He grabs at his ass, relishing in the familiar feeling of the soft flesh under his paws. They hold each other oh so close, like two lovers who have been separated for too long. (isn’t it what they are, after all?)

When they finally part, out of breath and with full of lust, Zeb takes a good look at Kallus once more, burning the image of his shiny reddened lips and dark eyes into his memory.

Kallus takes a step back, then another, until he’s backed up against the bunks. He beckons Zeb closer with a short gesture of his hand and the softest smile.

“Lie down?” It’s not an order in any way, more of a shy suggestion from Kallus. But Zeb indulges him, sitting on the edge on the bed and reclining back in the cramped space.

The ex-imperial steps between Zeb’s spread legs and crawl on top of the Lasat. He kisses his furry cheek, then his forehead, letting the long blond hair tickle the other man’s brow. He moves to the other side, repeating the process.

Ever so softly, Kallus’s finger traces the stripes that decorate Zeb’s face, blunt human nails petting the velvet of fur. He follows the dark purple from the tip of Zeb’s ears to the peak of his cheeks.

“You’re wonderful,” Kallus whispers in Zeb’s feline ear. His fingers go lower, brushing through the longer hair of Zeb’s beard.

Zeb can’t help a breathless gasp at the praise. It’s a little sad, but he’s not used to being treated this way by his partners. Adored, cherished. He’s usually the one worshipping their bodies, giving them all the pleasure he can.

His back arches when Kallus scrapes his fingers alongside his ribs, down and down until they rest above his pelvis. The human shuffles down to pepper kisses along Zeb’s throat, smiling at the purr that the Lasat fails to suppress. Eventually, he moves to his furry chest, to his taut stomach.

“Beautiful,” Kallus says in a husky voice, looking up at his partner, amber meeting viridescent green. “Let me take care of you. You deserve it.” He adds after Zeb’s fur uncontrollably ruffles out of embarrassment.

Under the gentle words, there’s something else, Zeb can tell. A painful “ _I don’t deserve you_.”. And if that doesn’t tug at the Lasat’s heart.

“So do you.” Zeb tries to convince Kallus, but seeing the way the other man turns his gaze away, he cannot reach him. _Not yet_ , Zeb thinks. _But we have time._

Zeb settles for slowly running his claws through Kallus’s hair, making sure that even if the other man doesn’t believe it, he knows he is loved.

Kallus allows the physical tenderness, rubbing against the palm of Zeb’s hand and spreading his own scent. (Does he know that it’s a Lasat display of affection?) He stays still for a few moments before resuming his trail of kisses, going lower and lower until he reaches the apex of Zeb’s powerful thighs.

That first touch of Kallus’s lips on his sheath makes Zeb’s whole body shiver. It’s not exactly a new feeling, but being able to _see_ as he props himself up on his elbows, to witness how Kallus’s eyelids drop in concentration, that’s something else entirely.

The dedication with which Kallus laps at Zeb’s slit makes the Lasat’s cock slide out fast, smearing its dripping lubrication over Kallus’s face. Kallus lifts up his head, showing off exactly how much slick has dripped on him, coating his skin and shining under the ceiling lights.

It’s the hottest thing Zeb has ever seen. It’s too much. He drops his head back down, and in doing so doesn’t see Kallus gathering the tube of lube under the bunk. He does feel the viscous liquid being spread over his hole, and a curse escapes his lips.

“K-Karabast.”

“Is this okay?” Kallus removes his fingers instantly, leaving Zeb feeling empty and cold.

“Yeah. Fuck yeah.” Zeb pleads, shimmying himself closer. He hears Kallus chuckle at his needy display but he doesn’t even care because these wonderful fingers are back on him, one slick digit slowly entering him.

Kallus goes slow, so much slower than they’ve ever gone before. He takes him time stretching Zeb, adding one, then two, then three fingers, spreading them in a way that renders the Lasat speechless.

“Oh fuu- oh Ashla, that’s real good,” Zeb babbles, unable to get any coherent words out while Kallus’s fingers are working him.

Zeb feels it building, heat spreading from the pit of his belly as Kallus licks his weeping cock. He doesn’t find the time to warn the ex-imperial as his first climax of the night washes over him; instead, he grunts as he covers Kallus face in his lilac-white spend.

Kallus’s bright laugh brings Zeb back from the high of his orgasm. It’s such a lovely sound, so different from his imperial chuckles. Zeb meets the other man’s eyes and grins at his wrecked appearance: come stuck to his beard and hair, flush covering his entire body. Kallus returns his smile before standing up and crawling over Zeb until he’s resting his chin on striped pectorals.

“Feeling ready, then?” Kallus asks, one hand twirling the longer fur of Zeb’s chest.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I might have to drop you back on that blasted ice moon.” Zeb jokes, but he can’t hide the desperation in his voice. He _needs_ Kallus. He needs to feel his body against his own, to be as close to him as he can.

Thankfully, Kallus doesn’t let him linger open and wanting for long. He steps off the bunk and tugs at Zeb’s legs, pulling him flush to his hips with a strength Zeb often forgets the man possesses.

“Oh, Zeb,” Kallus moans when his cock pokes at Zeb entrances. He keeps going, filling Zeb inch by inch until his hips meet fur.

It feels amazing. It feels _intimate_ , with Kallus’s eyes locked onto as he slowly slides into him.

“Keep-ah- keep goin’!” Zeb pleads.

Kallus is merciful. He thrusts deeper, planting his hands on either side of Zeb’s hips. But it’s not close enough.

Taking matters into his own hands, Zeb curls towards Kallus and wraps his arms around him, burying his face in the crook of the human’s neck. Kallus’s scent is strongest there, deliciously muddled with the smell of Zeb’s own come.

Their lovemaking is slow and tender, so unlike the first time they had each other. Zeb allows himself to nuzzle against Kallus’s throat, to moan his name at the peak of each thrust. He throws his strong digitigrade legs behind Kallus’s ass, guiding him even closer.

It’s not long before Zeb feels a second climax building up. Or maybe it is, but he can’t tell when he’s so overwhelmed by Kallus, by his smell, by his cock.

“Kal. Kal, ‘m. ‘M gonna come.” Zeb warns, tightening his grip on Kallus’s back.

Kallus grunts, his motions growing erratic as he picks up the pace. Every time he meets Zeb’s hips, he moans the Lasat’s name like a chant. It makes Zeb bold.

“Wanna mark you. Here.” Zeb illustrates his question with a nip at the meat of Kallus’s shoulder.

“Yes. Force, yes.”

Without a second to waste, Zeb sinks his teeth into Kallus’s pale flesh, drawing blood.

Zeb goes over the edge. He comes hard, claws making marks of their own as he spills over his own stomach. Kallus follows suit (It’s probably the marking, and the possibility that Kallus likes it drives Zeb mad.), burying himself deep as he fills Zeb with his seed.

When Zeb pulls away, dropping back onto the bunk’s mattress, he catches sight of the mark he’s just made on Kallus. It’s a half-circle, the indents of his teeth perfectly visible. It’s _gorgeous_.

Kallus collapses on top of him, a smile on his lips. He brings up his hands to wrap them around Zeb’s face, tenderly petting his beard. In return, Zeb kisses the mark, licking away the blood.

They linger in their embrace, holding each other in tender silence. They kiss, again and again, relishing in the feel of the other’s lips.

After what feels like an eternity, Kallus finally pulls out. Zeb groans at the emptiness, but he’s too tired to protest further. (He shouldn’t be, after his previous nap, but emotional resolution does that to a man.).

He shuffles his body so he’s lying along the bunk’s length, and closes his eyes.

Zeb rouses from his post-orgasm sleep when light hits his face. It’s coming from under the door, which must mean he slept through the night.

He tries to move, but something is holding onto him. No, not something. Someone.

Kallus is there.

Kallus, who always left, who wouldn’t let Zeb love him, is in his bed.

They’re both naked, but Zeb feels clean, and a blanket is thrown over the both of them. Kallus is responsible, Zeb realizes. Kallus cleaned him up, and _stayed_.

The ex-imperial in question cracks an eye open, looking up at Zeb. He’s currently laying on the Lasat’s chest, an arm lazily thrown over him.

“Good morning,” Kallus yawns. He’s smiling, his eyes lovingly wrinkling at the corners.

“Hey.” Zeb greets him back, before saying the words burning his tongue. “You’re still here.”

“So it seems.” Kallus nuzzles against his chest, shuffling so he’s pressed close.

“Ye always left. Before.”

“I know,” Kallus says softly. “But it’s getting colder; and you are quite warm.”


	5. Tender Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the events in this chapter are inspired by the wonderful Vintaged's fics, please check them out!

Hoth is cold. It’s cold and the carved tunnels of Echo Base make Zeb feel claustrophobic. He knows it’s no one’s fault that the Alliance has had to retreat to this miserable place but he will be damned if he doesn’t miss the warm nights of Yavin IV. But there’s something about the place.

Something about the icy winds that hurl against the blast doors reminds Zeb of a different time, of a frozen moon four years before where he met Alexsandr for the first time.

Not the ruthless Agent Kallus who’d been pursuing Zeb and his family, but _Alexsandr_ , the hardass who wanted to do the right thing. He only got a glimpse of him that night, but now, he’s lucky to be spending the frigid days on Hoth with the ex-Imperial at his side.

Their relationship has been rocky, full of unspoken feelings and misunderstandings, but they worked through it. They took it slow, slower than most people would expect of a dalliance that started with a drunken one-night stand. (Then again, their bond is anything but standard: one doesn’t usually fall madly in love with their mortal enemy.)

Zeb waited for Kallus to open up, to feel safe enough, far from the grasp of the Empire, to express his feelings, to speak of his wants and needs. And Kallus did, eventually.

Kallus willingly, enthusiastically, kissed Zeb just as they reunited on Hoth. In front of the entire mechanics crew as well as a few pilots, no less. (Money changed hands that day, but Zeb was too kriffin’ happy to care.)

 _Kallus_ , a man who, a year beforehand, rejected Zeb in the dark cockpit of a shuttle, was the first one to tentatively link his fingers with the Lasat’s while they sat through a crowded security briefing.

There is still one step Kallus hasn’t taken yet. Three words that Zeb yearns to hear leave the man’s soft lips as they hold each other every night.

 _I can wait,_ Zeb tells himself. He’s been holding on for long enough. What’s another week, another month?

Still, Zeb can’t help but push. Slowly (but always gently), he tugs at the threads of Kallus’s armor and unravels his defenses.

Whenever he can (and that’s not often, because he knows how much his words weigh for Kallus), Zeb tells the man he loves him. In the dropship after grueling missions ( _during_ grueling missions), in bed with their limbs entangled, in the watch post under the cover of icy darkness.

It’s almost ironic, how casual it all ends up being. As they both work on uncovering possible Imperial tampering underneath an X-Wing’s hull, it simply… _happens_.

_You do. You love me, Kallus._

_I do._

Kallus leans over the metal plates of the wing he was tinkering with and presses his lips against Zeb’s, oh so tenderly. The Lasat gingerly returns the kiss with his ears twitching in excitement. He relishes in the feel of Kallus’s lips, chapped from the ice but still warm and tasting like him, a hint of bitter caf on his tongue.

It’s only after they part that Zeb begins to realize that he’s heard Kallus right. _He loves me. He **loves** me. _He can’t stop smiling, a fang peeking out of the curled corners of his lips. He chuckles against Kallus’s mouth and threads his fingers through the man’s golden hair.

“Say it again.” Zeb pleads.

“I do.” Kallus’s voice is bright and clear and it’s music to Zeb’s ears. The Lasat tugs at Kallus’s shirt, pulling him close to rub against his bearded cheeks.

“Karabast.” A growl escapes Zeb’s mouth. The wing of the ship they’re pressed against is keeping them too far apart for what Zeb yearns to do. He wants, no, _needs_ to do more than just scenting. He needs to claim all of Kallus, make him his once and for all. (The fear Kallus’s confession might be short-lived rings like an alarm at the back of his mind, he cannot afford to waste time.)

Zeb reluctantly pulls away before slinking under the wing. When he emerges on the other side, he grabs hold of Kallus’s waist and pulls him close. He clutches the thick fabric of Kallus’s coat in his hand, making the other man gasps as claws sink into the puffy garment.

“You thinkin’ we’re done here?” Zeb whispers against the soft skin of Kallus's jaw. His voice sounds low and dangerous, and by the hitch in Kallus’s breath before he answers, it’s having quite an effect on the ex-Imperial.

“I think the mechanics can take this one.” Kallus answers. He frees himself from Zeb’s grasp then takes the Lasat’s paw in his gloved hand, leading him towards the exit of the hangar. “To our room, then?”

He doesn’t need to say more. His golden eyes are dark with lust and his exhales make clouds of the cold air of Echo Base.

The short walk towards their side of the barracks has Zeb’s body thrumming in excitement, a loud purr rising from his chest and echoing inside the ice-carved tunnels. He tightens his hold on Kallus’s hand, his claws scratching at the fabric of the other man’s gloves. It makes Kallus laugh, a gentle chuckle as he impatiently tugs Zeb forward.

“I love you.” Zeb gasps, almost against his better judgment. But how can he keep quiet when Kallus is ready to hear these words at last?

“Oh, Garazeb.” Kallus stops dead in his tracks and turns around to face Zeb, something unbearably tender in his gaze. “So do I.”

Instinctively, Zeb pushes Kallus against the icy wall of the tunnel. He closes the gap between them, passionately kissing the other man. The wet slide of their lips frantic and messy, completely unlike their previous embrace.

“Again.” Zeb sounds desperate, his voice no more than a growl. He mouths at Kallus’s jaw, his rounded ear, his flushed neck. A large paw makes its way underneath Kallus’s coat, snaking up the small of the man’s back to end up slipping into his underwear to cup his ass.

“I love you, ” Kallus moans, grabbing on Zeb’s jacket as he rocks in the Lasat’s grasp. “Zeb.” The way he says the Lasat’s name, his accent making even the nickname sound refined, it drives Zeb wild. He squeezes Kallus’s cheeks and goes for another kiss, letting a human tongue slip between his plush lips and tease his fangs.

They’re too lost in each other to notice the steps coming from the other side of the tunnel. They don’t even hear the first polite cough, nor the second. The only thing that is able to pierce through their lust-addled fog is a firm tap on Zeb’s shoulder.

“Listen, pal, I know the place is small, but do you really have to do this here?” The acerbic tone of the man makes Zeb’s fur ruffle.

“Oh, right.” Zeb pulls away from Kallus, still taking a second to bask in the beauty of his flushed face and reddened lips. “Sorry.” He mumbles as he extracts his hand from the back of Kallus’s pants and cringes when he feels cold air hit the exposed skin of his palm.

When he turns around to actually face the source of his embarrassment, he finds not one but two people, both humans. They look familiar, but he can’t place them.

“My apologies, princess. It’s- it will not happen again.” Kallus clears his throat and tries to readjust his clothes but he can’t hide the furious blush rising from his cheeks. Zeb can relate, because he’s just recognized one part of the duo: the young princess from Alderaan.

(To people’s surprise, Zeb holds a lot of respect for royalty, a leftover of his Honor Guard days. Being caught making out like a teenager by a royal is doubly humiliating for him. For a second, he considers flipping the hood of his coat over his face and pretending he’s not there.)

“You’re excused, Captain Kallus.” Leia, that’s her name, Zeb remembers, seems more amused than angry. He’s not sure if that makes the whole predicament better or worse.

Kallus doesn’t let Zeb have any time to ponder. Once more, he grabs the Lasat’s hand and drags him to the back of the barracks where their makeshift cabin lies.

“Wait. Kallus? As in-” Before Zeb can hear the dark-haired man finish his sentence, Kallus turns around a corner with his partner in tow. It’s not long before they reach the hole in the tunnel that marks the entrance of the barracks, their pace quickening until they’re running for the door.

It’s not an “official” barrack per say. The Ghost isn’t always docked on Echo Base, and at first the both of them tried to sleep in the main sleeping quarters, but the lack of privacy and some (overly sensitive) people’s complaints about the Lasat’s smell was enough to prompt them to make their own little hole in the icy walls.

They burst through the flimsy door like a hurricane, out of breath and entangled with each other. They’re laughing, tears forming at the corners of their eyes from the absurdity of being told off by someone half their age. Zeb feels so _young_ , all of a sudden, so full of love for the man in his arms, slumping against the icy wall as he tries to contain his laughter.

Kallus quickly shucks his gloves before running his hands through the thick bristles of Zeb’s beard, up to his feline ears. He shuffles closer, burying his face in the crook of Zeb’s neck and taking a deep breath.

“Stars, the things you make me do,” Kallus sighs happily. He scratches at the purple fur and Zeb can’t help but start purring again.

“What, ya never got caught sneaking out for a bit of fun?” Zeb says, and lowers his paws back over Kallus’s ass to make his point.

“Never,” Kallus chuckles against the crook of Zeb’s neck. He pulls back a bit, his golden eyes meeting Zeb’s. “Before you, that is.”

“Couldn’t resist the taste of big ol’ furry me?”

“You’re so much more than that,” Kallus says. And it’s genuine, his gaze softening just a little bit (Still more than it ever does, because Kallus is a hardass, no matter which side he’s on.), it makes Zeb feel something he can’t describe. It’s so much stronger than just love, than adoration.

“Kal, I-'' Zeb stumbles on the words, frustration rising as a growl from his chest. He wants to show Kallus how much he means to him, but Basic fails him. Instead, he reaches for the buttons of Kallus’s winter coat, fumbling as he tries to make fur meet soft skin.

He rips at the tag, tugs the wrong way maybe (maybe it’s his nerves, or the growing hardness of his cock), but the zipper is stuck halfway. Zeb’s growl deepens, his upper lip rising into a snarl as he jerks Kallus around and slams the ex-Imperial’s back against the wall. The Lasats sinks to his knees and imprisons Kallus’s hips under his hands’s steel grip.

For an instant, Zeb’s afraid he’s been too rough, but when he looks up, he’s greeted with a picture of pure unaltered lust. Kallus is panting, locks of amber hair falling over his face and covering the dark look in his eyes. Their gazes meet and the ex-Imperial smiles, he kriffing smiles, all his teeth in display in a feral grin. And if that doesn’t drive Zeb even wilder.

With a gasp, Kallus parts his thighs and feverishly reaches for his fly, hands shaking as he pulls his almost fully erect shaft out, not even bothering to remove his trousers. Zeb hums when the now-familiar scent of human arousal hits his nose, sharp as ever yet intoxicating. He can’t help but nuzzle closer, getting all he can of the small tuft of golden body hair in his reach.

“Garazeb, stars, touch me,” Kallus begs, his voice a breathy moan. One of his hands is working at his cock, the slick noises of precome sliding against flesh making Zeb’s head spin. The other is lifting up the elastic of his jacket, revealing the tiniest expense of flesh, dusted with pale hairs.

Zeb has no intention of making him wait. He grabs Kallus’s hand and pulls it away from his shaft, drawing a whine from the other man. He links their fingers together before pressing their joined hands against the padded wall.

“I gotcha.” Opening his mouth, fangs glinting in the dim light of the barrack, he licks a long stripe from root to tip then engulfs Kallus’s cock in one motion. A pleased moan escapes Zeb’s throat as the strong taste of precome coats his tongue. It’s _good_ , so good to have Kallus writhing and begging under his touch.

A single swallowing motion is enough to make the human scream.

“ZEB! Ah! Your mouth, I can’t-” Kallus whines more than he speaks, his entire body shivering. He rocks his hips forward and the blunt tip of his shaft meets the back of Zeb’s throat. And diligently, Zeb relaxes his jaw and takes all of him in.

“Feels so fucking good. Your kriffing tongue-” There’s a constant stream of gibberish spilling from Kallus’s lips and Zeb is intent on coaxing out even more. Kallus isn’t usually this vocal in bed, but the passion overwhelming the both of them seems to have started to unlock _something_ in him.

That same something is probably what makes Kallus wrestle his left hand out of Zeb’s grip, his right dropping the bottom of his coat (it pokes at the ridge of Zeb’s brows, but he doesn’t even mind) and curling both around the back of Zeb’s head.

A low moan of approval from the Lasat is all it takes for Kallus to start moving inside his maw. He anchors himself to Zeb’s ears, fingers digging in the purple fur, tugging at each thrust.

It’s rough and passionate and _perfect_. Zeb can feel slick pooling in the crotch of his pants, his cock fully out of its sheath already. He uses his free hand to cup himself, and he’s so close, with his head spinning and drool dripping from his lips.

Zeb surrenders, only minding his fangs while he lets Kallus chase his release. When he feels the ex-Imperial’s moans rise in pitch, he looks up, pupils blown wide, only to catch Kallus throwing his head back, his whole body taut as he spills inside Zeb’s mouth.

Human spend is bitter, more so than Lasat’s, but there’s little enough of it that Zab can swallow the load without second thoughts. He unlatches, gently tearing himself away from Kallus’s grip and sitting back on his haunches, ears lazily twitching. Only to see the other man tug at his spent cock, and spill his last drops of come on Zeb’s striped cheeks.

 _Fuck_ , Zeb thinks for a instant before feeling himself climax as well. Untouched. (That’s happened before, but always with Kallus fucking into him, never like that, on his knees and still fully dressed.)

“Sorry.” Kallus mumbles, visibly still coming down from the high of his orgasm. Tenderly, he uses his thumb to wipe the seed out of Zeb’s fur.

“Ts’ alright. That was-” Zeb’s voice sounds and _feels_ hoarse, but in the best of ways. “Fuck, that was hot.”

“I tugged at your ears, are they-? I know they’re-” Kallus eyebrows shoot up in worry before Zeb can correct him.

“ _Especially_ with you doing that.” Zeb grins. “I’m a big guy, I can take it.” With a sigh, Kallus slumps against the wall, worry leaving his body in a shaky exhale.

“Do you want to keep going?” Kallus asks, but since he’s started tugging down the zipper of his coat the rest of the way, it looks like the question is purely rhetorical. After all, he’s been making use of Zeb’s stamina for more than a year now.

“Ya feeling more than one?”

“Hmm-mm.” Kallus keeps shucking off his clothes, one layer after the other. “Just give me an instant.” He shimmies out of his sweater, golden hair sticking up as he throws it over his head.

“I got somethin’ in mind, while we wait.” Zeb grins as he helps Kallus out of his trousers, one shaky leg as a time.

“Do tell.”

“I’m gonna stretch you real good, with my fingers, and with my tongue, and I swear to the Ashla I’ll make sure the whole base hears you screaming my name.” While he gleefully watches Kallus clench his hands at the filthy words leaving his lips, Zeb stands up. He slips his paws under Kallus’s comfortably worn shirt, relishing the feeling of burning hot skin under the pad of his fingers.

“Fuck, Zeb that’s-” Kallus closes his eyes, sighing, then moaning when Zeb’s curious hands scrape over his nipples.

“That a yes?”

“Would you think otherwise?” Despite the wry response, Kallus is shivering when he finally removes his shirt. He looks so vulnerable, skin flushed a delightful pink with his spent cock hanging over his underwear.

“Smartass.”

Zeb takes a couple steps back until he’s close enough to their shared bunk to sit. He spreads his digitigrade legs and cheekily taps on his lap. “C’mere, it’s warmer than that blasted wall.”

Kallus joins him, a spring in his step despite how cold the ground must feel under his bare feet. He climbs on Zeb’s lap and presses a heated kiss to his lips, rocking against the Lasat’s still-clothed crotch. Zeb can feel the slick of his first climax _squishing_ under Kallus’s motions and that’s just enough for him to start getting hard again.

“You don’t intend to fuck me with your clothes on, do you?”’ Kallus plays with the metal tag of Zeb’s jacket as he asks and kark does he look good, starkly naked all for Zeb to have.

“‘M considering it.”

“Love, please.” Kallus chuckles against Zeb’s mouth. He grabs onto the puffy fabric of the lapels of Zeb’s jacket and pulls the Lasat even closer.

 _Oh._ This is new. Kallus is barely one for nicknames, let alone pet names.

“Love?” Zeb parrots, a tremor in his voice.

“ _Yes._ ” Kallus answers in a sharp breath before kissing Zeb again, all while he tugs the heavy coat the Lasat is still wearing off his shoulders.

It’s a rush to finish removing all of their clothes. Thankfully, Zeb doesn’t have the need for as many layers as Kallus, but it’s still too long before they’re bare against one another, able to drown themselves in the marvelous feeling of the other’s scent, their fur, their skin.

They tumble on the makeshift bed, their burning breaths forming clouds in the air. They kiss and kiss and kiss again, unable to let each other go for even an instant. It’s only when they can barely breathe that they break apart, barely an inch between their faces and their limbs still entangled.

Zeb nips at Kallus’s reddened lips, before moving to the tender skin at the crook of his neck. He sucks on the flesh there, not stopping before he’s left a bright pink mark. It’s not quite a bite (he’s saving that for later, because if he bites, he’s done for), but it still makes something primal at the back of Zeb’s mine growl. _Mine._

“Flip over, _love_.” Zeb rolls the syllables of that last word, testing how wonderful they feel on his tongue.

Kallus obediently gets on his stomach, tucking his knees under him so his ass is sticking up. Clearly, he hasn’t forgotten Zeb’s promise. He angles his head so he can look at the Lasat and the glint in his eyes is one of hunger.

Making use of his longer-than-human reach, Zeb brings his right hand to Kallus’s mouth, a silent command in his gesture. He doesn’t need to ask, because he _knows_ Kallus. And he’s very aware of his specific preferences.

Greedily, Kallus takes Zeb’s fingers between his lips, coating them in saliva. It’s not quite enough to prepare him, but the Lasat’s previous orgasm provided plenty of slick to help things along. Zeb still takes his time, letting Kallus’s tongue lazily swirl around his clawed digits (he could retract the claws, but he’s found that the ex-Imperial actually likes the appearance of danger).

After a moment, reluctantly, Zeb removes his fingers from the warmth of Kallus’s mouth. He fumbles for his ruined underwear, making sure he’s got enough slick to stretch Kallus without hurting him, because he intends to go slow. To push Kallus’s limits (and his own).

Zeb grabs one of Kallus’s cheeks with one big paw, exposing his puckered hole. Ever so slowly, he circles the man’s entrance with his slicked-up index finger, just teasing. Every brush of his hole has Kallus keening, pushing up against the pressure.

“Zeb, Zeb, I need-” Kallus starts babbling. The Lasat takes pity on him, splaying his unoccupied paw over the freckled expanse of the man’s back.

“Tell me.”

“Touch me, please. I need your fingers, your tongue, anything.”

“You’re chatty today.” Zeb chuckles. Immediately, Kallus slaps his own hand over his mouth, muffling his needy cries. “No, that’s _good_ , Kal. I wanna hear ya.” To encourage the ex-Imperial, Zeb finally, carefully, presses a single one of his large fingers inside him.

Kallus takes it in with a pleased yelp. And it only takes a couple thrusts to make Kallus’s moans grow louder. Not loud enough that people outside the barrack can hear them, but Zeb’s not even inside him yet. They’ll get there.

It’s a slow and involved process, stretching Kallus so he can take a Lasat-sized cock. Zeb knows he could go quicker, but when he fucks Kallus, he wants to fuck him hard and deep and that takes some preparation, some _care_.

Two digits in his hole have the ex-Imperial writhing, his heavy panting moistening the pillow he’s grabbing onto.

“Think you can take a third?” Zeb bends down so he can whisper against Kallus’s sweat-slicked neck, his deep growl rumbling in the other man’s ear.

“ _Yess_ ,” Kallus sounds wrecked and Zeb can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of lips, because he’s getting Kallus, all proper and closed-off, to _talk_. “Fuck, your fingers feel so good, love.”

Zeb has to reward him for that. Gently, he pushes a third finger inside, and it’s a tight fit but Kallus takes all Zeb gives him regardless. The Lasat pulls back, just a bit, to admire how Kallus is stretched around him, the way his thighs tremble and his breath hitches every time Zeb’s fingers move inside him.

There’s still a couple tricks up Zeb’s sleeve though.

He spreads his fingers apart, just enough to make Kallus fist his hands into the bedsheets, and moves closer, close enough to blow, his breath burning hot, against Kallus’s entrance. Instantly, Zeb feels Kallus’s entire body seize, tensing around his fingers.

“Zeb!” Kallus cries out, louder than before, his voice echoing against the walls.

With his ears twitching in delight at the need in his lover’s voice, Zeb presses his lips against Kallus’s rim and pushes his tongue in the gap he’s created, deep enough to make sure Kallus can feel _all_ of it.

Every brush of his deft tongue, every movement of his fingers makes the man underneath him writhe and moan, the sounds coming from Zeb’s ministrations being mirrored by the cries coming from Kallus’s mouth. (Hard to tell which is more obscene, the slick noise of Zeb’s rimming or Kallus’ wanton moans.)

When Zeb pulls back, a thin line of spit still connects him to Kallus’s well-slicked entrance. A satisfied grin on his face, he admires the way the ex-Imperial’s spine curves in lingering pleasure, the spread of his knees framing his leaking cock.

“Yer-” Zeb stops for an instant and wipes his mouth clean. “You look like a treat.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Kallus pants as he turns over, revealing his hard shaft in full. He braces himself on his elbows to gaze at Zeb, and karabast, he’s beautiful, the scattering of his freckles so stark against his skin. “Take me.”

It’s tempting. Very much so. But a mischievous part of Zeb’s mind pushes him to lie back instead, one hand behind his head, and the other one working his deep purple erection. He can see the frown starting to form on Kallus’s face, but he can’t help it, he wants to tease his lover just a little bit after all the waiting.

“I kinda want to see ya work for it,” Zeb says, and punctuates the phrase with a slick tug at his own cock.

“Very well.” Kallus rolls his eyes (but his lips are smiling). He moves towards Zeb until he’s crouched between the Lasat’s legs. He runs his fingers along Zeb’s shaft, over furred knuckles, making Zeb’s fur ruffle. He thumbs at the pointed head in small circles and this time it’s Zeb who whines.

“Give me a little space, _then,_ you can see me work.” Kallus adds with a grin.

Zeb scrambles to get in a better position as fast as he can, sliding down the bed and parting his legs, allowing Kallus to straddle his waist.

With a grace that comes from thorough practice, Kallus lifts himself up. One hand flat on Zeb’s chest, the other one around Zeb’s cock, he guides the Lasat to his entrance. Then ever so slowly, with a moan of unabashed delight, he sinks down. As the widest part of Zeb’s shaft slips past that tight ring of muscle, he curls his hand into the soft lavender fur, a strangled gasp carrying Lasat’s name escaping his lips.

Yet, Kallus keeps going until he’s taken all of Zeb in, the spines and ridges, until he’s flush against Zeb’s knot. He’s dropped his forehead against the Lasat’s chest, his wet pants matting the soft fur of Zeb’s neck.

“Satisfied?” Kallus asks, lifting his head to meet Zeb’s gaze and he’s still grinning, the bastard. The lovely, brilliant, amazing bastard.

“Kriff, Kal, I-'' Zeb can’t find the words. He runs his paws all over Kallus’s body, marveling over how goosebumps appear under his touch. He moves up the soft sides of Kallus’s torso and cups his cheek, gently petting Kallus’s distinctive facial hair with a clawed thumb. “I love ya.”

There’s something in Kallus’s eyes that changes, while Zeb speaks. Each syllable has the dark pupils, hidden under a curtain of amber hair, grow softer. Kallus’s entire face, usually so stern, follows suit, the mask of iron will he always wear melting away to reveal a tender vulnerability.

Kallus doesn’t say anything, still. The words seem stuck in his throat, turning into choked-off whines as they cross his lips and he sinks up and down Zeb’s cock.

“Kal.” Zeb pleads. “Look at me.” He can’t help but thrust in time with Kallus’s hips, burying himself in that tight warmth. Zeb sinks the claws of his feet into the mattress and sits up, leaving Kallus no other choice.

They’re so close, their noses bumping against each other every time Kallus bounces on Zeb’s lap. Kallus wraps his hands around the back of Zeb’s neck, clenching harder when the Lasat’s cock presses in a futile attempt to hold on. Zeb assists him tenderly, his big arms anchoring Kallus to his chest.

“Love you.” It’s just a whisper from Kallus, at first. But each confession is louder than the last, each kiss, each thrust unlocking his tongue, once and for all. “Fuck, Zeb, I love you.”

Zeb drinks the words like it’s the finest kriffing whiskey in Corellia. He kisses Kallus’s lips, bites them, cherishes them: they’re _his_. Kallus is his, all of him, his freckled skin, his golden hair, the soft rolls of his belly. It’s only natural he makes a claim.

Using the strength of his digitigrade legs, still gripping the bed tight, Zeb tumbles forward and pins Kallus under him, a tight grasp on his wrists. The Lasat’s cock slips out of Kallus, making him groan at the loss as lube and precome starts spilling out.

“Put yer feet here,” Zeb growls as he gestures at his broad shoulders. Kallus does, and Zeb hunches over, further and further until Kallus’s ass in up in the air, his knees bracketing his chest. They’ve never fucked like this before, and it feels positively _primal_.

Once more, Zeb pushes into Kallus and in their position, he can go deeper, not stopping until his knot is buried inside and his slit is flush to Kallus’s ass. When he bottoms out, he sees Kallus’s eyes roll back, the ex-Imperial mouth slacking open in unparalleled pleasure.

“That good, eh?” Zeb breathily jests. It’s taking all of his restraint not to fuck into Kallus and rut him, a feral instinct screaming at the back of mind, but it would go against his more civilized nature not to check.

“The best,” Kallus slurs. He clenches around Zeb and civility goes out the window.

Zeb pounds into Kallus with all of his strength, his hips meeting flesh with a lewd slap every time he buries himself inside. It feels so good, letting go. And Kallus’s intensity meets his own, his cries so loud, the hushed whispers of love now shouted out loud for everyone to know. (There’s no way people outside can’t hear them now, and Zeb wouldn’t have it any other way.)

The pace Zeb sets is a brutal one, the rolling waves of his hips leaving Kallus no respite. Although the enthusiastic moans from the ex-Imperial only spur Zeb on, because it’s intoxicating how much Kallus likes it, being rutted like the both of them are just animals.

Hunched over Kallus, Zeb has complete freedom to rub against the soft facial hair covering his cheeks and spread his scent, imprint it on every inch of Kallus’s body to show that he’s officially taken, with no doubt as to who his mate is.

When Kallus’s legs start trembling under his relentless assault, Zeb knows he’s nearing his climax. He picks up the pace, his previous rhythm devolving into erratic thrusts. His hips snap down once, twice, burying himself as deep as he can, before he feels a familiar pressure building in the pit of his stomach and in the knot at the base of cock.

“Alex,” Zeb groans. (He uses Kallus’s first name, it feels wrong to call him anything else when he’s about to knot him.) “‘M gonna- I’m gonna come.”

The question doesn’t need to leave his mouth. “Inside. Please.” Kallus sobs, and Zeb can feel the man tighten around his shaft.

The sweat-slicked expense of the flesh of Kallus’s clavicles calls to Zeb like a beacon, and, once more, he answers. (He never marked Kallus again after that night on the Ghost, where they decided to give whatever they were a shot. But this is now, and Kallus is his to claim.)

Zeb bites, latching onto the meat of Kallus’s shoulder and in the same breath, he hilts himself deep into Kallus’s warmth, forcing his expanding knot past the rim. Seconds later, Zeb comes, hard. His knot reaches its full size, plugging up Kallus’s hole while the spines harden and lock them together.

While Zeb knows they can’t possibly breed, there’s a primal satisfaction that comes from languidly rolling his hips, grinding his knot inside Kallus and pushing his own seed deeper. The Lasat is still coming, the truly obscene amount of semen starting to spill out despite his best efforts.

“So good,” Zeb growls as he unlatches his fangs from Kallus’s skin, leaving a bloody bite mark behind him. He humps against Kallus one last time for good measure, making sure he’s buried as deep as he can.

It’s only when he hears Kallus’s strangled cry that he realizes that the ex-Imperial has finally climaxed. Just from Zeb’s simulacrum of breeding, and that’s enough to make Zeb’s head spin.

Carefully, he unhooks Kallus’s legs from his shoulders, letting them drop down in a more comfortable position around his back. He can’t move much, but he rearranges their limbs so he’s able to rest on his back, a very satisfied Kallus laying on his furred chest.

It takes a moment before any of them speaks. Instead, they breathe in unison, basking in each other’s warmth. Zeb notices a splatter of come across Kallus’s chest (the human’s own, from being folded in two like that) and chuckles as he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“That was...” Kallus sighs, his fingers absently curling around the longer fur of Zeb’s beard.

“Yeah.”

“If I’d known-”

“You would’ve told me you love me sooner?”

Kallus just groans and buries his head in Zeb’s chest. It’s almost funny, seeing him so embarrassed, not by the massive knot currently in his ass but by a reminder of how emotionally constipated he is.

“I’m pulling yer leg.” Zeb laughs and gently rubs circles above the small of Kallus’s back. “Though...What changed?”

Silence hangs heavy between them, Kallus’s breath hitching in aborted attempts to answer. When he finally speaks, it’s in a hushed whisper.

“I…I know I don’t deserve this.” Kallus raises his head and wiggles closer to press a short kiss to Zeb’s lips. “ _You_.”

Kallus’s voice trembles a little at that last word, his usual Coruscanti restraint fading away as he rubs his cheeks against Zeb’s, imitating the Lasat’s earlier scenting.

“I don’t understand what you see in me, perhaps I never will. But you make me want to be better, every day. How could I not love you?” Kallus pauses again, after that. His eyes drift down and his face grows somber. Zeb moves one of his paws up, petting Kallus’s hair in an attempt to encourage him. They _need_ this, this catharsis.

“It’s selfish of me, I realize. You deserve better than someone who used to be Imperial, but I can’t-” Kallus swallows, then looks back up, his amber gaze tenderly tracing Zeb’s alien features. “If you will really have me, despite it all, then I’m yours.”

There’s nothing for Zeb to say, other than to meet Kallus for a kiss. No, not just a kiss. It’s a declaration, a promise that _yes, kriffing yes,_ he will have Kallus, Imperial past or not. It feels like yet another first kiss, different from the drunken one on Yavin IV, from the one that tasted of burnt grilled cheese.

They only part when Zeb feels himself grow soft inside Kallus, his knot finally shrinking down. It’s always a bit messy, that part, but the pleased groan from Kallus is music to Zeb’s ears.

They clean up without a word, Zeb’s low purr and Kallus’s occasional humming the only sounds echoing in the barrack. Kallus lets himself be moved around, his pliant limbs rearranged so that he and Zeb lie side by side, comfortable under the thick blanket they’ve smuggled off the Ghost.

“Do you ever think about what you’ll do, when this is over?” Zeb softly asks, wrapping his arms around Kallus and bringing him closer.

“I try not to.” There’s still anxiety in Kallus’s voice, but it’s _honest_. No more avoiding his feelings, no more self-imposed punishments.

“We’re gonna make it, I believe that.” Zeb reassures him. He has to believe that they’ll live through this war, that they’ll have a future, because else what would he be fighting for?

“What would _you_ do?”

Zeb takes a deep breath, then nuzzles into the crook of Kallus’s neck. He takes a moment, considering if he _should_ tell him. _Who I am fooling,_ Zeb thinks. _I decided I wanted to share this with him a year ago, the morning he woke up in my arms._

“There’s this place, kinda hidden, not on any star maps. I’d like to take you there.”

Kallus starts a rebuke, but Zeb stops him with a tender kiss. He feels the other man melt under his touch, and he asks.

“Alexsandr. Come with me.”

“Oh, Zeb.” With yet another tender kiss, Kallus makes a promise of his own. “I would follow you to the end of the Galaxy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't thank enough every person who commented and encouraged me to finish this. It's my very first long-form fic that I finished, and I never actually thought I would make it! English isn't my first language, and I'm a very slow writer, but y'all encouraged me to keep going and I'm so grateful!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this smut with feelings, and I hope to write more multi-chapter fics in the future!


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